Mors Tua, Vita Mea
by ElysianVirago
Summary: Hermione finds herself obsessed with one thing after the war: what happened to Tom Riddle? Her endeavors to answer that question end up leading her to places she never thought she would go. Time Travel AU. EWE.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so please be nice. If this is a little similar to any of the other Hermione/Tom fics then I apologize. I just had this idea in my head and I couldn't get it out, but it was definitely influenced by the countless number of amazing fanfics about Tomione that I've read. This is a time travel fic, but don't expect Hermione to head back right away. Tom will definitely be mentioned quite a bit before she goes back in time, but I want you all to understand some of her motivations. I'm sorry if you think I'm writing Hermione as OOC, but this is how I interpret her as I rewatch the movies and reread all the books. She is extremely strong, intelligent, and passionate and from the way the girl studies you know that she's pretty obsessive. I promise all of my author's notes won't be this long, but this is the first one so I thought I might clear up any questions you have. The prologue will be considerably shorter than any of the other chapters, but it was that idea which got me started down this rabbit hole. Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think and what you might want to see!

* * *

 **Prologue**

Hermione Granger's limp form laid mangled beneath the elm tree. Her uncontrollable curls were drowned into submission by a combination of rain, mud, and her blood. The gaping hole atop her head was submerged in the mud. Hermione thought it was ironic that she spent so many years fighting that awful slur just to die when she brought it to life.

Hermione should have been screaming in agony, pleading for her life, or attempting to find a way out of this all, but she wasn't. All Hermione could do was think of how cold it must be. The rich color in her skin had faded away, goosebumps covered her arms, and she heard the wind howling as the storm raged on. It must have been freezing out, but she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything anymore.

Her body should have ached instead, it was numb. From what she could see there were blooming bruises covering her thighs and her ankles, blood was trickling down her thighs into the dark puddle below, and she had at least three bones which were visibly broken. She closed her eyes when she realized she could see her arm, having no desire to stare at the hideous scar mocking her as she died.

"Maybe Bellatrix won after all," she thought because even when she closed her eyes all she could see was her left arm drained of all color except for the puffy, red letters which still shone as brightly as the day they were carved into her skin.

Hermione Granger was broken.

She didn't notice the way her body shook from the crucios she had been subjected to. She couldn't see the series of inch wide slices on her abdomen which was the source of most of the blood seeping into the mud puddle beneath her. She didn't know the bruises covering her thighs paled in comparison to the ones on her speckling her head and neck. She couldn't even taste the copper blend which filled her mouth that was a stunning mix of blood from her broken nose, her split lip, and her tongue which she had nearly bitten off during the last round of torture was now hanging on by a paper-thin stretch of muscle.

All she wanted was to die, but Hermione could never get what she wanted.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"When I had all the answers, the questions changed." - Paulo Coelho

* * *

It was half-past four and Hermione Granger found herself awake. A common occurrence these days. She didn't sleep much anymore and when she did sleep it wasn't for very long. No matter how much Sleeping Drought she took, she was almost always awake in two hours. On nights when she was lucky, she might manage three, but those nights were few and far between as her tolerance to the purple potion grew. Somehow the lack of sleep seemed to be the least of Hermione's problems as of late. Of course, she was not alone – as Harry always loved to remind her – each member of the Golden Trio had their own difficulties adjusting to peacetime, but Hermione was the only one who felt as though nothing had changed. She didn't know if it was because she was the only one of the trio who carried the scars of her torture with her every day or if it was because she still saw the discrimination against muggleborns although it wasn't as outright as it had been before. To make matters worse, Hermione had an obsessive disposition and there was nothing else of importance left to stop her from losing herself to her obsession.

Professor McGonagall had asked the Golden Trio if they would be returning to complete their seventh year, but they had all declined. It was no surprise to anyone that Harry and Ron had rejected her offer. Harry had proposed to Ginny the day after all the funerals were done and had already accepted a position as an auror. He wouldn't rest until the remaining Death Eaters were rotting in Azkaban. Ron did as he had most of his life and attempted to follow in Harry's footsteps. School had never been his forte and as soon as Harry declined, Ron promptly did so as well. Ron wasn't entirely sure if the life of an auror was for him, but when he realized that majority of the Death Eaters were firmly in hiding or had died during the war it made his decision much easier. When Harry asked Ron and his brothers for permission to marry Ginny, a seed firmly planted itself in Ron's mind that he must ask Hermione. She was gentle when she rejected him, explaining that she wouldn't be able to dedicate the proper energy to a relationship when she was still struggling to heal from the horrors of the war, but in truth, it took every bit of her control not to curse him at that very moment.

"Of course," He had told her with red cheeks and downtrodden eyes. "We all need some time to heal after this… I just want you to know that I'm always here for you Hermione."

Hermione gave him a curt nod, placing the ring back in his hand. While she would vehemently fight for her family, friends, or anyone else that she deemed worthy of defense – which constituted every man and beast alike – she had never been good with expressing her own feelings and defending them to others. The war had made it even harder for Hermione to burden someone else with her own problems, but with how exhausted she was after being strong for so long she knew that she would give in to her base desires to release all of her rage and pain on someone else if she was forced to stay around anyone for too long. She hated to admit it, but Ron would probably be the worst person for her to be around now because the more she stewed on he had left she and Harry, the angrier she became. Now he proposed to her because they had kissed once during the battle? Marrying Ron was not an option, even dating him was going to be a stretch.

"I love you. I will always love you and that means that I will wait for you – no matter how long it takes."

Ron had promised her that he would wait. He told the entire world that he tried to hold out for her, but that he didn't think she would ever be ready. Ron said this during every interview and the interviews seemed to be countless. Ron had assumed the role of the golden boy and spokesperson of the Golden Trio as Harry retreated into the background and Hermione attempted to hide from the world. Ron promised he would wait for her over and over again while he fucked every available witch in London and even a few taken ones. He played the role of a lovelorn war hero perfectly and the entire world pitied him and began rejecting her.

Hermione was used to being hated. She was hated by most purebloods for being born with magic. The female population at Hogwarts hated her at first because she was smarter than them. When puberty began to hit, they began hating her because she was becoming prettier than they were. The deep-set hatred became the clearest to Hermione when Krum asked her to the Yule ball. After that, it wasn't just the female population of Hogwarts, but the female population of the entire wizarding community that began to despise her because she was just a silly, little mudblood girl who had already stolen their magic and was now attempting to steal their men – first with Krum and then with the savior himself Harry Potter. It didn't matter how unfounded any of the Prophets accusations against her were, people believed them because they created a justification for their disdain that was unable to be traced back to racism and discrimination. She was lauded as the most brilliant witch of her age after she had helped win the war, but the praise was short lived when Ron began exploiting her rejection for sympathy.

Hermione turned into a recluse after the war. She refused a job at the broken ministry and, to everyone's surprise, decided not to return to Hogwarts. Only a select number of people had seen Hermione since the war, and she had made one public appearance beside the series of funerals and that was to testify at the Malfoys hearings which took less than an hour and required her to properly interact with only three people while all the others sat and watched. She hadn't even attended the awards ceremony where she, Harry, and Ron would all be given the Order of Merlin First Class, instead opting to fake a particularly nasty illness the day of the ceremony. After this stunt and a few missed Sunday dinners at the Burrow, Harry nearly forced Hermione to stay with him at Grimmauld Place.

"We've got a lot of extra room and you could stay for free" turned into "Hermione, I just can't seem to break any of these wards. It would be really helpful if you could come help, Bill says that they are some pretty rare blood wards" and when the idea of breaking through ancient wards didn't lure her in, Harry finally told her that she would not be allowed to read any of the books from the library if she did not come to stay with him. Hermione was exhausted after all his pestering and moved in with the condition that when she finished the renovations she would be gone. As an added bonus she would be added to the apparition wards so she could have access to the Black family's extensive library anytime she pleased. It took her thirteen days to finish the renovation and an extra twelve to convince Harry that she would be fine in her own flat so that way he would stop adding onto that godforsaken to-do list.

After she moved out, Hermione found herself researching in the Black's library every day to stop Harry from randomly apparating to her home unannounced "just to check-in". She was entirely convinced that she was picked to be Ginny's Maid of Honor because Harry wanted to keep a closer eye on her and make her interact with a few more people. Hermione couldn't manage to say no to him because if she did then she would have to explain what was taking up all her time. Harry would not take her newest research project that well. When anyone mentioned Voldemort or the war, Harry miraculously forgot he had an urgent meeting to attend or that he had made reservations with Ginny that he was dreadfully late for – even if it was four o'clock in the afternoon. Harry would hate to find out that his best friend, a woman who he thought of as a sister, was spending her days researching his dear, old friend Tom.

It wasn't in Hermione's best interest to disclose her current research to anyone because most, if not everyone, would try to dissuade her from pursuing this, but it wasn't in her nature to leave questions unanswered. What happened to Tom Riddle Jr. was the greatest question of her generation and Hermione was determined to answer it. Tom Riddle was stunningly similar to both she and Harry. Tom and Harry's similarities had been widely published after Voldemort's fall, but no one other than Hermione herself seemed to have noticed the connection between the young mudblood and the Dark Lord. Hermione may not have been an orphan, but she did grow up without parents and, before Hogwarts, without any friends.

Robert and Jean Granger had been consumed by their work for Hermione's entire life. She had a nanny from the moment she was weaned off her mother's breast until she was six-years-old and vehemently insisted to her parents that she no longer needed one. Her argument was simple – she knew how to do all the things her nanny tried to do for her, and her parents found they agreed. The other children at school teased her for her buck-teeth and called her a swot. None of them wanted to talk to her unless they needed her help with an assignment or to cheat on a test. She had no interest in playing outside or fiddling around with inanimate dolls when she could lose herself in a novel or find answers to a question that she was the only one asking.

When she found out she was a witch, all the muggle fairytales she read came into question. If witches were real, did that mean werewolves were too? Vampires? Dragons? Professor McGonagall tried to answer her questions, but the old woman didn't have the thoroughness that Hermione would have liked. It wasn't enough to know that vampires existed, she needed to know if they were friendly to witches. If not, then she needed to know how to kill them. She wanted to know how vampires were created. Were they bitten? Did they reproduce like any other species? Was it some sort of miraculous combination of both? From each question came a series of follow-up questions and the professor had neither the knowledge or patience to answer them all. That was where the books came in.

Upon her first visit to Diagon Alley, Hermione found herself begging Professor McGonagall to allow her more time in Flourish and Blotts. She was near desolate to find her request had not been granted. Instead of wallowing in her sorrow, Hermione spent her time memorizing her textbooks and practicing each and every incantation in the books she did have. She read _Hogwarts: A History_ three times before her first year and every time she learned a new wizarding reference or piece of history, she read it once more to see if there was anything that she didn't fully understand the first time around. She found her sanctuary in the Hogwarts' library, there were so many questions that could be answered there. She spent most of her Hogwarts career checking out the maximum number of books allowed and then taking them down to the Black Lake where she would practice each spell until she could do it ten times without any error. When she and the boys went on the run, she began the same routine but instead practicing the spells silently. After her wand was stolen during the war, she created a new routine after it where she practiced most spells silently and wandlessly. She even took the time to learn about how to cast various "grey" magic and a few different dark spells when she wasn't researching Tom.

Tom, from her reading, seemed to have the same obsessive nature as she had. He was raised without knowing anything about his heritage and spend his early years learning about as many muggle topics as possible. After he learned he was a wizard, he took the same mentality to learning about the Wizarding World. When Tom arrived at Hogwarts, even though he was sorted into Slytherin, he may as well have been just another mudblood yet, he was unlike any of the other muggleborns of his time. He perfected every spell before it was taught in class, he was never once caught out of line, he became a prefect and then Head Boy. He, like Hermione, didn't seem to have any friends until several months into first year and even then, unlike Hermione, he never forged a true bond with any of them. Tom was the perfect student who must have mastered hiding his true intentions.

From what she had seen in Dumbledore's pensive, he always seemed to believe that there was a darkness to Tom. The more she researched, the more Hermione began to think that was just another justification for how Dumbledore had treated him, and that belief made it far easier to convince the Order of the Phoenix that Tom was a beast who should be slaughtered on sight. None of this sat right with Hermione. No child is born evil, they are made that way. Hermione had seen her fair share of discrimination before the war began and most of that was after Voldemort's fall when blood purists were supposed to be in hiding. She couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for Tom over fifty years ago when he was in Slytherin and Grindelwald was on the rise. While all of this was concerning, Hermione found she could understand how this may have twisted Tom's views. What truly troubled her, what she spent hundreds of hours trying to determine, was how Tom had turned into the beast she had seen during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Tom hadn't just been the perfect student – he had been beautiful. The pictures Hermione saw of Tom Riddle through the years made it clear that he had never even come close to being deemed as unattracted. As a child, he was quite adorable and he didn't have an awkward phase where he had to grow into his features, they grew with him. Tom Riddle was the picture of perfection throughout his entire life. It wasn't clear to her when his looks faded. It may have been as he created more horcruxes or it could have been a side effect of living so long as an incorporeal being – no one who was willing to talk to her had been with him long enough to explain when his skin had turned white, his eyes red, or how he had lost his nose.

No one was able to tell her when he descended into madness either, but her research was able to shed a bit of light on this situation. From the pattern of his attacks and the changes in his recruitment, she assumed that his mind slowly began to fade sometime in the early seventies and by the time of the prophecy he must have succumbed to the paranoia. She knew from her research and personal experience that when Tom was resurrected, any semblance of the man he was before was gone. All that remained was a shell whose sole motivation was vengeance and who was so mad that he was unable to achieve it – that creature was only Voldemort. Hermione loved Harry, but she knew that even she could have killed him during their time at Hogwarts. If Voldemort would have given up on the idiotic idea that he had to be the one to kill Harry Potter then the boy would have been dead long, long ago. Blood wards can't protect someone against everything and if it were Tom then he would have figured out a way around it, Voldemort did not even try. Tom had found Ravenclaw's lost diadem before he turned twenty and he had made his first horcrux when he was sixteen. His magical knowledge and might were unquestioned, so in any sane world, a blood ward would have never stopped him. Hermione had discovered how to create and destroy a blood ward accidentally which added another layer to one of the various supporting questions she found: How much had Tom's madness corrupted his brilliance?

After Hermione had worked her way through every published book about Voldemort, every diary from people who had met him in the past, and every pensive memory of him the ministry had on record she realized that everything she had discovered was entirely lacking. She had to go speak with Albus Dumbledore in person. She needed to know what caused Tom Riddle to lose his mind.

When Hermione approached Dumbledore's portrait her nerves threatened to get the better of her, but her desire for answers won out. Before the portrait could manage to greet her properly, Hermione found words rushing out of her mouth.

"Why did you hate Tom Riddle?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** Thank you for sticking with me this long even if we are only a few chapters in. It's looking like the further into this story I get, the longer the chapters are going to be. If any of you read this when I originally posted Chapter 1 I recommend that you reread it because I made a few changes which made the chapter significantly longer and might help a little bit more of the connection that Hermione sees between herself and Tom. If you all are really holding out for when Hermione meets Tom don't be worried, it is coming very soon. You'll only have to wait for another chapter or two - at most. I would like to give a quick shout-out to the lovely jamcreynolds and her fantastic fic "Blinded by Lies" which helped to inspire the end of this chapter. Thank you all for reading again! From here on out the author's notes will mainly be used if I decide to do something that's not quite canon and I feel like I might need to explain it quickly.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"Self-justification is a treacherous servant." - Wellington Mara

* * *

Dumbledore spent most of his time contemplating life as a portrait. He knew that he wasn't a real person, that none of these memories were actually his, but somehow, they all felt so real. He was simply a magical painting with an implanted consciousness that had been taken from his – could it even be called his? – original form at some point in time before its death. It was strange to think that these false memories connected to him to so many people that appeared in Minerva's office and that, even though he was no longer living, he was still sentient. He was somehow able to create new memories that would never be taken from him and, if the other portraits were anything to go by, these memories would last for lifetimes. He would have decades where he watched the people he knew in his past life grow old and eventually die. When they died, he wouldn't have anywhere as near as many visitors, though they seemed few and far between already, and he would just become another portrait babbling to himself about times long forgotten. He would have nothing but his thoughts then; although since he had been put into this form, he had found he more time to think without any sort of interaction than he ever had before.

Minerva kept herself busy restoring Hogwarts which had been reduced to ruin in a war that neither version of him had been present for. The only time she seemed to be in her office was when she hosted formal meetings and, much to his disdain, he was expected to keep his input to himself during those. The two of them had a few, brief conversations where he had made comments about what she was mumbling to herself, but those conversations never lasted long because the Scottish woman found Dumbledore far more infuriating in portrait form. On the rare occasion when a researcher sought him out to discuss his work on dragon's blood or the Deathly Hallows, he relished in the occasion to speak to someone without having to hold his tongue for once and he would be lying if he didn't admit that he savored the opportunity to talk to anyone at all.

It was a particular pleasure to see Hermione Granger walk through the door. Her hands were shaking slightly, but he noticed the same steely determination he had seen in her eyes so many times before. He could tell that this wasn't going to be a simple "how do you do" visit and that thrilled him. Those conversations were terribly boring, and Ms. Granger looked anything but boring right now. She was sporting several new scars since he had seen her last and the distinct coloring – whether it be the deep purple of some, the lack of color entirely in others, and the especially interesting red hue peeking out from underneath her wand holster on her wrist – clued him into the dark magic or dark objects that had created them.

He found himself wondering what exactly had happened to Ms. Granger since he had died. The scars she had meant there were some very interesting stories she could tell and he was positive that she would offer a view on the war he hadn't heard yet. Ms. Granger always had a peculiar way of looking at things, as evidenced by her S.P.E.W. campaign, and she made a point of taking her time to firmly research whatever position she took and then expand upon it even as a young girl. When Ms. Granger spoke before he could muster up a greeting, Dumbledore's curiosity was piqued.

"Why did you hate Tom Riddle?"

There was no venom to her voice, but there was an edge to it which Dumbledore didn't think he had heard her use before. The smile on his face didn't fade, but Hermione swore that the portrait's eyes began to twinkle as Dumbledore seemed to be holding back a chuckle.

"I never hated Tom, Hermione. I just saw what he was before anyone else did. I could feel the darkness within him."

Hermione's eyes turned dark and Dumbledore couldn't help but notice how her entire body seemed to be charged with magic at that very moment.

"You could have saved him. You were just too overwhelmed by your old fuckbuddy trying to take over the world that you decided not to. When Grindelwald was finally gone you convinced yourself that Tom couldn't have been saved just to save yourself the guilt. He was a fucking child. You could have led him away from the dark, but you chose not to, _Professor_." She sneered the last word, mocking the title he held for so long.

Throughout her speech, the air seemed to be crackling around her and Dumbledore was beginning to think that he may have underestimated Harry's studious, little muggleborn friend. She had somehow discovered his relationship with Gellert which he had worked so hard to hide and she had hit the nail on the head with what happened with Tom – not that he would admit that to anyone else, he hadn't admitted it to himself when he was alive.

"Hermione, dear, I'm not sure what you've heard but Tom had always been a disturbed boy. He was unable to love because of the Amortentia that his mother used on his father and that twisted his mind."

Dumbledore would not concede that he had failed to this girl, no matter what she claimed she had known. If he wanted to make eternity as a portrait bearable then he had to believe the lies that he had told for so many years, justifying all of the losses in the wars, he could not give in to the doubts that had crept into the back of his mind. He would go mad if he allowed himself to do that.

Hermione shook her head firmly before she spoke, "That's not quite true professor. See I've been researching and there is no way that a potion administered Tom's father, no matter how strong, would have affected his sperm enough to permanently change Tom's disposition. The only cases where Amortentia seems to have had a permanent effect on the child has been when the potion was repeatedly given to the mother throughout the course of the pregnancy and even then there are some debates about whether the potion actually affected the fetus' physiology or if it was the environment that they grew up in which changed their perspective on love. Tom Riddle was perfectly capable of love throughout his childhood and into his adult life until after the horcruxes tore his soul beyond recognition. His path could have been easily prevented had any adult in his life shown some semblance of care."

Dumbledore's smile had faded at this point and the portrait's eyes began to narrow, he was beginning to regret his initial excitement at Hermione's new take on the war. She could think about things differently just as long as she didn't blame him.

"See, I have this theory that you played a pretty large role in turning him into a Dark Lord. You were, as far as I can see, the most powerful wizard that Tom had ever been exposed to and you were even the one to introduce him to the Wizarding World. If you would have taken him under your wing instead of hating him because he reminded you of a younger version of your ex, then maybe he wouldn't have tried to follow in Grindelwald's footsteps. Tom was always destined to be powerful, but he wasn't always destined to be evil. He learned how to inspire devotion from a young age and he quickly realized that devotion was tied to power. He became the most vicious and powerful wizard of the century because no one showed him any other way. He had to make a name for himself in Slytherin if he didn't want to be bullied by his own house for his assumed blood status. Because you never gave him the time of day, he began to resent you and found a different idol in Salazar himself. Imagine how Tom must have felt when he discovered that he was the last heir and that no one thought to mention it. He bought into Salazar's teachings because the way he saw it, all his power came from Salazar. It was easy for him to hate muggles when he spent his life growing up surrounded by the worst war known to man and he found out his father was alive and had abandoned him. Tom realized that the fact he was Slytherin's heir solidified his position in his group of purebloods because now they didn't just fear him, they believed in him – in his name and in his mission. Tom saw how Grindelwald had achieved love, devotion, and power: all of the things he had ever dreamed of and after you had defeated Gellert, Tom recreated Grindelwald's plan, but his madness took him before he was able to complete it.

"If you know all of this my dear, then why are you here talking to me?"

Dumbledore was not used to being put in his place and he had never had it done to him by one who was quite so young. To say that he was put out would be a vast understatement, yet he had no way to leave the room without admitting defeat and he had never been very good at that.

"Why did he go mad? When did he go mad? I've spent hours pouring over books and journals. I've watched and re-watched every memory of him, but I can't tell what finally made him lose it. I think you may know."

"Dumbledore's smile returned because now they were at the root of the problem. The girl needed information from him which meant that the power was once again in his hands. Yet, he stayed silent watching her anger peak.

"Was it the horcruxes? Was it the prolonged exposure to all sorts of dark magic?" She began rattling off questions, but Dumbledore never answered. He just smiled at her as the twinkle in his eye reappeared and, for the first time since the war had ended, Hermione's tempered flared and Dumbledore's portrait went up in flames.

"If anyone else had been watching, they would have thought it was a burst of accidental magic that had caused the destruction of the former headmaster, but Hermione knew it was anything but an accident. She had flicked her wrist just so and then the Fiendfyre began to spread. She couldn't find it in herself to care about how she would explain any of this to McGonagall or anyone else for that matter. The old coot had manipulated her and so many others before her, even as a portrait he refused to give anyone any information of real value and that made him a danger to anyone else he might come into contact with.

Hermione may not have gotten what she wanted from Dumbledore, but she was convinced that she knew enough to go on with her plan. If Dumbledore was unwilling to tell her about what caused Tom's madness, then there was no way in hell that he would give her any information about the ritual she was going to perform. Dumbledore was just another liability and if the ritual was to go according to plan then that couldn't be allowed.

* * *

"Harry, I need your help with some of my research."

Hermione knew that she was taking the ultimate risk by asking Harry to do this, but he seemed the most likely person who would be willing to adopt her and although Harry was not a pureblood, he was the heir to many noble houses. Houses that would draw the attention of Tom Riddle and vaults that she would be able to lay claim to because the Potters would have long forgotten they were entitled to them. If Harry questioned her motives then her journey would be impossibly harder, but this was a risk she had to take.

"I found this adoption spell in a few different books in the library and it looks like the Blacks have used it a few times before to keep their line from dying out. It hasn't been used in centuries I would guess, but I think that it could potentially have some major effects on the Wizarding World if I'm allowed to complete my research on it. The thing is that I need to test it first and I don't feel comfortable allowing anyone else to test it just yet and before you try to say anything about me getting hurt it isn't about that. There isn't anything about major side-effects in any of the books and I just need to see how exactly the magic is passed on from one to another or, rather, how it changes the magic of the adoptee and it wouldn't be conducive to my research to attempt the spell on children it may help, but who don't know how to interpret their magic yet."

Hermione had Harry's full attention because not only was this the first time in weeks that she had said more than a few words to him, but she had just asked him to adopt her. The idea was insane for so many reasons but somehow made sense to him as well. Hermione had always been family, this would just make that bond clear to everyone.

"Hermione, how would that even work? If the spell hasn't been used in centuries, then maybe it shouldn't be used again? I don't feel comfortable letting you try out a spell that may end up hurting you or worse."

Hermione bit down on her lip softly, she could tell from Harry's tone that he would give in eventually, but she was going to have to lie to make him do it and a part of her hated that. If she hadn't burnt Dumbledore to a crisp then she would have just taken the time to wear Harry down, but McGonagall would be returning to her office in the morning and notice the scorch mark that was left where the old headmaster used to hang.

"I know that it seems like a lot, but it's really not. It's a little like Huck-Finn if I'm honest. We cut our hands, join them together, and you say a spell then it's all over. I'm positive that there won't be any chance of me getting hurt," The first lie. "It's just this spell could really help some of the healers at St. Mungos if I get it right," The second lie. "From what I've read, it seems to be a Sacred Twenty-Eight secret that hasn't been released so that way the purebloods can act like they were never at risk of dying out. I'll even stay with you after we do the spell so that way you can see that I'm fine," The third lie.

Harry ran his hands through his hair, glanced at the ground for a moment, and turned his gaze back to Hermione.

"It could help people?"

Hermione let out a brief sigh of relief, she was positive that Harry was going to do it.

"You can't begin to comprehend how many people this could save," Hermione didn't have to lie about that much.

"You won't get hurt?"

Hermione nodded quickly, "Nope. I'll just sleep for a little while and then I'll be back to normal."

"It's like Huck-Finn?"

"The ritual is so simple that we could do it right now."

Harry sighed at that, seeing the excitement in Hermione's eyes.

"You want to do it now, don't you?"

For the first time since the war, Harry saw a real smile on Hermione's face as she enthusiastically nodded at him. Harry found himself smiling at the sheer joy she had at the prospect of this.

"You've always been my sister, you know, but now I guess we'll just be making it a reality."

Hermione nodded once more, knowing that it would ruin the mood if she explained that the adoption would technically make him her father. She wouldn't be around long enough afterward for him to question her about their relationship or even to allow herself to try and figure out that bit either. She chose not to focus on any of that, but rather the edge this would give her when she went back.

"Alright Hermione, what's the spell?"

" _Sangioficus concorporo_ ," Hermione articulated the words clearly and waited for Harry to repeat them before continuing. "We will both cut our hands and as we join them together you say the spell while swirling your wand clockwise."

Harry mimicked the motion and Hermione nodded in approval, summoning a knife from the kitchen and quickly slicing her palm open. She passed the knife to Harry and he did the same.

"Ready brother?"

Harry smiled and sliced his hand before holding it up to her.

"Ready."

Their hands joined together as Harry loudly called out " _Sangioficus concorporo_ " and suddenly a golden light shone through Hermione's skin. Her body felt as though it was being torn apart from the inside out as Harry's magic and hers began a vicious battle. Harry had collapsed from the amount of magic the spell had pulled from his core so he, thankfully, couldn't hear Hermione's screams. The battle within her felt like it would last hours as the two magics fought for dominance and her core attempted to grow enough to appease the warring pair. Hermione screamed and writhed on the floor until the exhaustion overrode any pain she felt, and then she simply collapsed.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** I'm not sure if I'm crazy about this chapter, but the more I wrote the more I seemed to like it. The next chapter is going to be quite fun, but I won't spoil any of it just yet. I hope you caught that my shoutout last chapter was to the blood adoption idea that jamcreynolds had in "Blinded by Lies". This chapter addresses a little bit more of the process of that ritual, the way I imagine how the body processes it. I hope you like it!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"Even death has a heart." - Markus Zusak

* * *

Hermione's entire body was buzzing. She was used to feeling her magic crackling around her when she was upset, but this was different – her magic felt different. It wasn't wrong per se, just strange. Instead of the warmth she usually felt when calm like embers from a fire, there was a roaring flame inside of her. She felt more powerful than she ever had before, but she was on edge. The ancient tome in the Black Library stated that there was a chance of rejection if the child was no strong enough for two magical cores, but that didn't worry her. It was the line which stated the characteristics of the family magic would be passed on as well and that could spell trouble for Hermione. She already had a temper, but from the way she felt right now she knew that she would be downright explosive.

The combination of the Black magic which tended towards streaks of madness and Potter magic whose protective nature led to an increase in magic whenever anyone the user loved was threatened could be deadly and she had seen how the combination led Harry to hell and back more than once, but Harry's magic was tempered by his mother. Lily Potters magic was driven by love and healing, it was patient and had a subtle strength about it that didn't need all of the pomp and show the Potter magic or Black magic did. Muggleborns had the purest of magics, a type of magic which was entirely their own, so Lily's magic had held its own against the ancient magics in Harry's blood and balanced him out. Hermione knew her magic was not going to be compatible with Lily's.

When two muggleborns have children, each child's magic leans entirely one way or another. Muggleborn magic is too pure, too powerful to stop the fight for dominance and that means one of their magics will be eliminated entirely in the fetus while the other survives. The ancient houses' magic seemed to be the most conducive to change. Old magic needed new life forces to continue on and drew strength from everything around it. The new magic would amplify the old magic and they would settle into one another as a child's magical core developed. Hermione's magical core did not have the luxury of a slow growth into the various magics that had been fused into her. Instead, her core had to grow as fast as it possibly could while sets of fully developed magic attempted to assert their dominance. The ancient magic stayed together, preserving itself, waiting for one magic to assert its dominance over the other as the two forms of new magic began launching everything they had at one another.

Hermione's magic had clearly won out, she could feel its familiar caress under her skin attempting to calm her as she began to feel the changes that were made to her magic. Lily's magic wasn't entirely gone, but it had been reduced to minuscule amounts. It was pushed to the absolute limit and only found the will to submit when it realized that Hermione's magic would swallow it whole. All of the magic within Hermione's body had begun to settle into its place, but now she had to learn how to control it.

" _Accio_ wand," Hermione commanded. It was the first spell she had ever learned wandlessly, yet she was unable to perform it right. Her wand began making its way to her hand, but instead of slowing to a stop in her hand it seemed to only pick up speed and her new wand shattered against the wall.

"Bloody hell," She swore as she stepped over Harry's body which was still resting on the floor. She had planned to levitate him to his bed and heal his hand with a simple spell, but with the way her magic was right now, it would do more harm than good. Hermione lifted a blanket from the couch and covered Harry with it. The thought of leaving him a note crossed her mind, but that would take to much time. She didn't expect her magic to take as long as it did to find equilibrium. Hermione left her brother with a gentle kiss on the forehead and no explanation.

Apparating was the easiest thing that Hermione had tried since the ritual because apparating wasn't about power but focus and Hermione knew how to focus – natural occlumens typically did. She was terribly glad that she had decided to collect all of the ingredients for traveling back in time before the adoption ritual because it was going to take her a few days to become in tune with this new blend. She needed to make sure that she was in a place where Harry would never find her and she knew the perfect one – the abandoned Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton.

Riddle House yearned for someone new to shelter. Long gone were the days where people would stop in awe at its beauty. Now, children would dare each other to get closer and closer to the untouched oak door. It seemed like a disgrace that the home that hosted dinner parties almost every night had been reduced to nothing more than a spectacle. Its last occupant, a mass murderer, who only chose to occupy the room where his first large murder took place. Countless more seemed to follow in the few months its new master chose to be there. The townspeople believed that the blood from the slaughter of the entire Riddle family had stained the drawing room floor. It didn't. For all of the horrors Riddle House had seen it was surprisingly clean of evidence of those crimes.

* * *

Dark magic may not leave a visible mark, but there was always a clear magical residue left behind and if enough dark magic was used in an area then even the muggles could feel it. That explained why they hung the crosses along the fence of the decrepit manor and refused to touch the land after so many years had passed. Hermione thought it was a bit humorous that the muggles in Little Hangleton were still so superstitious that they thought a few crosses would save them. Voldemort, no matter how much he looked it before the battle, was no evil spirit and would not be contained by tiny pieces of wood. She appreciated their effort, but it was entirely misplaced. Those muggles would have been far safer staying away from the manor. She hated to think of how many muggles might have accidentally triggered Voldemort's wards or been spotted by a few of the more twisted Death Eaters. Their fate wouldn't have been a good one, to say the least. She could feel the residual magic from the wards that had finally faded when Voldemort died. His power was undeniable, even after death, the might of his magic surpassed the majority of the wizards and witches in Great Britain.

For all of the time the manor was left unattended and uncared for, it was surprisingly easy to transform into something functional. Hermione would only be staying for a few days, but if she learned anything from being of the run for an entire year it was to maximize comfort with what you were given. There was a lot of raw material to work with and it gave Hermione a chance to practice taming her magic. Before the first night was over, the Riddle House was restored to its former glory and by the morning Hermione thought she was getting her magic back under control. She still felt as though her magic would fire off if she let her emotions get the better of her, but Hermione thought she had learned how to keep those in check long ago. It may have been a misled thought, but it was a necessary one considering what she was about to do. There was no room for hesitation, she could possibly be facing the three most powerful wizards of the last century. If there was any time Hermione needed confidence, it was now.

Hermione had always been a survivor, but it was her turn to become a savior. Her plan was simple: go back in time, adopt Tom, and then raise him in a home where he would be entirely loved and teach him how to direct his power towards good not evil. It wasn't a plan filled with glory or praise, but all of that was overrated. Hermione would live happily knowing that Voldemort wouldn't unintentionally kill off a third of the entire wizarding population in Great Britain with two gigantic wars. The trick was that there was no way of knowing if the ritual Hermione was using would work or if it would kill her. It was rumored that those who performed the ritual were tested by death himself. Hermione would like to say she didn't believe that, but before Harry had been revived she didn't believe in the Deathly Hallows either. She had seen far too much in this past year to discount any possibility.

The ritual itself was easy. All she needed was her blood, a thestral hair, and the winter solstice. Once she sliced her hand and wrapped the thestral hair in the wound under the light of the full moon then the old magics were supposed to do the rest. The timing and location wouldn't be exact, but they should get her close to where she needed to be. The galleons tucked into her extendable bag would be enough to provide for the young family she planned to have and if somehow that wasn't enough, she would be able to lay claim to ancient vaults with untold riches. Others would say that Hermione's plan was a longshot, but she couldn't bring herself to murder a baby and anytime after that would be too late. She didn't know when Tom's corruption took place and the longer she allowed him to live on his own, the less likely she would be to convince him to trust her, to love her like the mother he never had. Even if Tom was truly incapable of love, something Hermione very strongly disbelieved, she would love him and that would, hopefully, make all the difference.

* * *

Death didn't take the time to watch over very many people. There were too many who died each second for him to linger long, but he always had a knack for spotting the special ones. There were so many who teased him over the years, who faded in and out before deciding it wasn't time, they were always the most fun. It wasn't often that there were two of those people born in the last decade, much less the last generation, but wars seemed to breed greatness. Harry Potter had marked himself as special early on. How curious it was to collect the souls of mother and father, but not an infant son? Things became even more curious when he felt the loose fragments of Tom Riddle's soul floating around the room as well, taunting him because he was only able to look and not touch. He saw Harry Potter repeatedly over the years as those around him died and on one occasion he nearly collected his soul as well, but that damned ring he made so many years ago kept Potter just out of reach.

Death had always kept his eyes on Harry Potter and the little that was left of Tom Riddle. He found a sick pleasure in collecting the soul pieces Harry left for him, checking on the boy along the way. Yet even Death made mistakes and when Hermione Granger began the ritual, he knew that he had overlooked another special one. Her soul called to him in the most wonderful of ways and he knew that her death would be a glorious one, but this wasn't her time no matter how much she seemed to be begging for death. He could feel her pain as she chanted and he longed to give her that glorious death, bursting her into flames as he had with so many unworthy before, but her intentions were true and her magic was strong. He couldn't take her now, it would be a travesty if he did. He would be saving himself so much work if she were to succeed and if she didn't then it would be glorious to see her try.

Her words sounded like the sweetest of symphonies. It wasn't often that he was able to listen to the humans and rarely did he hear them calling out to him, welcoming him. Her chants surrounded him, beckoning him towards her, demanding that a decision be made.

" _Abeo praetiritum,"_ She had a clear time and place in mind. What a good girl, not even phased by the power that was surging through her body at this point. Hermione always felt as though the air was crackling around her, so how was it any different when the entire room was charged with magic.

" _Oboe fax,"_ The growing charge in the room didn't compare to the spark within, but as Hermione repeated the words the energy around her grew. Her skin began to burn. Death was tried to be immune to her pain, but he couldn't ignore her calls. It had been ages since he had been referred to like this. People thought it was uncivilized to offer themselves to him, they didn't trust him anymore. He could admit that he had never been a fan of the sacrifices, they were just more work, but the recognition was nice. It was nice to be honored, to be recognized instead of shunned.

" _Ac ditios aetas,_ " After Hermione said the last words, she suddenly lost all sensation. The pain was blinding or maybe the magic was… Hermione really couldn't tell. All Hermione knew was that she wanted this to end. Death hated this. Her soul was so tempting, but this wasn't her time. He wanted so badly to ease her pain and suffering, to give her the end she craved so much. Yet, she had a much larger role to play. While this death may be what she wanted it was so clearly not the death that she deserved. She was destined for so much more pain, so much more sacrifice, but if she could make it through that she was destined for glory. Most importantly, if she survived then she would be happy. It was a movie that he hated to watch, but that he knew he wouldn't be able to look away from and with all of the death he sensed around her, he had a feeling that there would be plenty of opportunities for him to watch along the way.

* * *

A child cried out for his mother while a young boy attempted to chase after the kitten he just bought. Books were levitating in the air next to children as parents rushed them in and out of stores. Diagon Alley was filled to the brim with students who had just received their Hogwarts letters. There was no foot of space left unoccupied. There were papers flying about with the Prophet's newest scoop, children bouncing around as they begged to go to Fortescue's, and parents who were all too ready to send their children off on the Hogwarts Express. None of them were ready for a bushy-haired girl's limp body to fall from the sky in a spectacular flash of light.

The entire alley stared at the girl who was a good thirty feet in the air. A few adults who had their wits about them quickly cast a cushioning charm before the frail girl smacked into the pavement. At this point, a large portion of the people in the alley attempted to rush to her side. Upon closer examination, the young woman stood out to the crowd even more. She was barely dressed, many of the more conservative men were positive that she must be in her undergarments. All she wore was a wand holster, which was missing a wand, and a white dress that would barely be considered what the muggles called a slip. She was entirely too thin and some of the mothers were already itching to shove food down her throat, but what entranced and horrified the bystanders in Diagon Alley the most were the scars which covered most of her body.

Someone from the crowd called out " _Rennervate"_ and she awoke with a gasp. Men and women were crowding her, trying to touch her, and it was all too much. She closed her eyes and her magic ran its course throwing everyone the alley at least three meters back. She struggled to cover her body from all of these strangers, unable to find a familiar face in the crowd, all the while her magic was building up inside of her again.

"I'm so sorry. So very sorry." She kept saying over and over again as her body shook. No one dared approach her again, not until she burst out in tears sobbing over how she had failed them all, how it was all her fault. Even then, it wasn't any of the bystanders who approached her but the aurors who had been alerted when Diagon Alley's wards were breached.

She was flashed away by a female auror and as the male auror began attempting to calm the crowd Tom decided he had seen enough. The girl had his interest, this auror did not. Once he arrived back at school, he would have to go ask Abraxas what daddy could find out about Diagon Alley's "mysterious angel" who was so powerful that she knocked hundreds of wizards and witches off their feet without casting a single spell.

Death felt sick to his stomach. He had done his job, but at what cost?


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** First of all I would love to thank you all for the reviews! It feels great to know that people appreciate my work and take time out of their day to write a review to show their appreciation. Secondly, I would like to address what nodza brought up in her review. She mentioned that I don't always have a clear marker when I am transitioning POVs or scenes and that was SUPER helpful because it drew my attention to the fact that the symbols I had been using were, for some reason, not transferring over when I uploaded my chapters. I think I have fixed the problem, but I would like all of your help in letting me know if I have. I looked back through previous chapters and tried to insert a horizontal line (the only formatting this site seems to be allowing me to use) whenever there is a POV change. If I have missed any that you may have noticed then please let me know. If you are an author who is more familiar with this website than I am, I would love it if you gave me some tips on how to deal with the Doc Manager for formatting because it seems to be a bit finicky. Finally, I just wanted to thank you all again for sticking with me through these random ass updates I post - mainly at four or five in the morning - and to let you know that I welcome any and all feedback and I will answer any questions you have - as long as it doesn't give away too much of the story.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

"Still round the corner there may wait - a new road or secret gate." - J.R.R. Tolkien

* * *

Hermione's heart was pounding erratically as the wards around her seized her magic. She was cataloging every book she read about the Ministry of Magic attempting to recall which wards were used where and how to get around them. She had been so stupid, allowing the aurors to take her in, but she hadn't expected to land in the middle of Diagon Alley and the hallucinations were not a part of her plan either. How was she expected to think rationally when Fred, Remus, and Sirius were all there watching her fail? She was supposed to arrive outside Riddle House where she only ran the risk of a few muggles seeing her. Being exposed to hundreds of witches and wizards would not allow her to ease into wizarding quietly as planned.

Nothing seemed to be going as planned. It was alright though, if Hermione had arrived before 1925 when the Ministry had installed anti-apparition wards in all of their interrogation rooms then she would be able to escape even with the current bind on her magic. She closed her eyes and imagined Riddle House, she felt the familiar lurch of her stomach, but when she opened her eyes she was only on the other side of the room. She wants to scream, but she doesn't. Every breath becomes a battle as she forced herself to get back to normal. She may not know exactly when she had arrived, but she had to stay strong and keep a clear mind. The key to Hermione's survival was stuffing her fear deep down inside. Fear would corrupt her logical mind, it would make her act on instinct alone, and acting on instinct got messy. She couldn't afford to be sloppy now if the Ministry found out what she was she would be kissed without a doubt.

It was hard for Hermione to temper herself when her magic was bursting out of the seams of the little container the wards attempted to put it in. Her magic hated being contained even when Hermione attempted to calm herself, this attempt to block her magic off from the rest of the world had turned the small fire within into a raging inferno. There was always a fire in her magic which was burning for the chance to feel the open air, the freedom to feel the caress of the old magic which covered their world and it would die if that meant shining light on such beauty - if even for a moment. Hermione's magic grounded her, it was the only thing that made her feel at home because it was the sole constant in her life. With Hermione's shattered psyche and volatile magic, she needed to find a way out of this room before she blew it all up into smithereens and potentially took herself with it.

* * *

"She refuses to speak to anyone except for you."

Leonard Spencer – Moon, the Minister of Magic for the past decade, placed his black bowler hat onto Dumbledore's desk. The short, heavy-set male wiped his brow as he spoke, breath heavy from the short walk up to the third floor and down the Serpentine Corridor into the empty classroom where Albus Dumbledore had been pacing around the room only a few minutes prior.

"Who did you say she was?"

"A girl who fell from the bloody sky Albus," The minister shook his head with a heavy huff. The chair underneath him letting out a resounding groan as he leaned forward. "Gellert is getting closer and closer to England every day. The people are already on edge and a girl falling from the sky into the middle of the Diagon Alley does not ease tension."

Albus hummed lightly, twisting the small phial in his pocket. While what happened with the girl was quite unusual, it was not unheard of, and he was already quite frustrated with _Leonard_ so he saw no need to instantly give in to one of the ministers many whims.

"The way that I understood it, Minister Moon, I was only supposed to be working on the blood pact this year. You attempted to bar me from teaching so I would devote all of my time to breaking the pact, yet somehow now you want me to take a break to go visit a girl who I may or may not know all because she 'fell from the bloody sky?'"

"It isn't just that," The minister glanced around the empty classroom once more as though someone would appear. The desk creaked under his weight as he lifted himself up. His motions were slow and choppy, Albus wondered to himself how such an oaf of a man found his way to the most powerful position in Great Britain because Leonard on his own was neither brilliant nor powerful. Perhaps the man just found himself in the right place at the right time.

After what seemed like ages, the oaf had made his way out of Albus' chair and lowered his voice considerably as he placed an unwanted hand onto Albus' shoulder.

"She is covered in scars. Scars that, according to the mediwitches, were inflicted by incredibly dark magic." Dumbledore thought to himself that was a bit odd, but not entirely uncommon especially among some of the stricter pureblood families.

"She has no wand, but her magic is oozing off of her and we can't tell if what happened in Diagon Alley was accidental or intentional." Appearing in Diagon Alley was not impossible, there was apparition and portkeys. Floo was out of the question because of where she had landed, but Leonard would not be paying him a visit if that were all that happened. At this point, it was clear to Albus that there was something dear Leonard wasn't telling him.

"Frankly, we are lucky that the Daily Prophet has assumed she's just another victim of the war because from what we can tell she was an active fighter." Yes, something more had to have happened when she appeared. Something that the Prophet either chose not to report or was strong-armed into ignoring.

"A fighter who managed to overpower three armed aurors without so much as a bat of the eye," Was that what happened in Diagon Alley? No, there were far too many witnesses for them to cover that up. She somehow must have disarmed them after she was already in Ministry custody. Now that was interesting.

"Albus, we need to know if she is on our side because if she's not... I fear what's to come."

* * *

Aurors rushed to his side, wands at the ready, but Albus laughed.

"She's just a girl. I'm sure there is no need for all of this fuss."

Albus saw more than a few old students in the crowd of people standing next to him, but only one seemed to have the courage - or perhaps the authority - to respond to him.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, we do not believe she is just a girl," Heavy black brows were furrowed in a near constant look of exasperation that Albus had come to associate with young Bartemius Crouch. "She's apparated within the room three times even with her magic bound and the wards at full strength. She hasn't managed to fire off any spells yet, but when the first group of aurors attempted to corral her into the interview room earlier she disarmed them all with a wave of a hand. It was sheer luck that one of us managed to hit her with a stupefy before she escaped."

Albus was unable to hide the smile that formed as he tried to determine whether this girl was simply that powerful or if the aurors were all that stupid. Each option seemed viable, but one was far more fun than the others.

" _Murus cecidimus,"_ Albus said with a flick of the wrist before approaching the now clear wall to observe the girl in question. She was pacing around the room. As she walked, he swore that he saw her hair sparking in the light which reminded him so much of Ariana it hurt. Leonard hadn't been exaggerating when he said the girl was covered in scars, there were so many exposed that he knew she must have chosen not to hide them or heal them. A few of the lighter scars on her arms could have been easily healed, leaving her young skin unblemished, but this girl didn't want that.

"Why is the wand holster still on her arm? Was she found without a wand or did you merely confiscate it and somehow forget the holster?"

Crouch shook his head, "No professor. We didn't forget to take the holster, I doubt we could get close enough to remove it at this point. When she appeared in Diagon Alley no one saw any wand on her person or near where she fell. We can only assume that her wand must still be wherever she was before this."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement before turning his cerulean eyes onto Crouch.

"Barty, I am going to take her out of that room," He held up a hand before Crouch could protest. "She's only going to be more hostile if she is locked in there and if she is as powerful as you all say then the binding won't last much longer without continuous reinforcement. Feel free to run off and tell your superior. I'm sure that they would want to be alerted and I want to speak with her alone. Understood?"

The aurors apprehensively nodded, none of them were quite sure how to vent what was going to so obviously be a policy violation. The girl had asked for him and the minister had sent him, but they were never given clearance to allow him to do anything like this. It was clear that he wasn't going to wait for their permission though as he opened the door as soon as he was finished speaking heading straight for their prisoner.

* * *

The door was opened in a single fluid motion and Hermione was prepared to sprint out, but then she saw the tall man standing in the doorway. Ginger hair, ginger beard, soft lines forming by his lips and his eyes, his very blue eyes that managed to twinkle in the dim light of the room – Albus Dumbledore had finally answered her calls. She plastered a large smile on her face in case anyone else was watching and began to step towards this young version of her Headmaster.

"Albus, it's been so long!"

He tipped his head towards her as a subtle queue to continue. Albus may have been a manipulative bastard, but he had always been brilliant and if she wanted to succeed in escaping the ministry's clutches then Albus would be a necessary evil. She knew the more she spoke, the sooner he would catch on, and hopefully, the sooner he would get her out of this godforsaken room so she could cast a simple tempus to determine her next course of action.

"Is there any chance that we could maybe go chat in your office over some tea and lemon drops? We really do need to catch up and that way I could explain this whole misunderstanding, but these wards are making it so I can barely think straight."

Hermione had always assumed that Dumbledore's fascination with muggle candy had been a part of a life-long love affair, but now she was beginning to wish that she had paid a bit more attention to the more minute parts of Dumbledore's life. Even if Hermione's assumption had been wrong, Albus chose to play along because he extended his hand to her and whisked her out of the ministry before the crowd of aurors could say "stop".

Hermione felt as though she would cry when she saw Hogwarts in all of its glory. The last time she had seen her former home had been shortly after the war when over half of the building had been reduced to rubble. As she and Albus approached, her stomach fell when the courtyard came into view. All of those bodies – she couldn't get them out of her head. That was why she was here, she would be preventing all of those needless deaths.

Hermione ached to cast the tempus immediately, but if she decided to do that then she would be blowing her cover right away. Everything she told Dumbledore depended on what year it was. If she had arrived early enough then she would concoct an identity based off of whichever war was taking place at the time, maybe tell him that she ran across Gellert and he explained Albus would help anyone who was in need. The later it was, the easier her false identity became to assume, but the harder it would be to lie to Dumbledore's face. She hated to think it, but there was a chance she might have to tell Dumbledore the truth or at least part of it.

"Are you… were you a part of the war?" Dumbledore finally broke the silence of their walk as they entered the nearly vacant castle.

"Which one?"

"One wouldn't think that there are very many to choose from."

"Wars aren't rare Albus. The fact of the matter is that war, death, discrimination, whatever you would like to call it, it's ubiquitous, all that really matters is to which degree you are affected by it."

"That's an interesting perspective for one so young. Now I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, you know my name but I cannot begin to fathom yours."

Hermione paused for a moment, names were important but the one she chose would vary on the persona she was forced to adopt.

"Hermione. You may call me Hermione." Sticking with her own first name would be far simpler to remember besides the best lies were based in the truth.

"Well, Hermione, I believe you said something about explaining"

Hermione nearly swore, with Albus' series of questions and watchful eyes that seemed to be keyed into her every move there was no way that she would be able to cast the charm without him noticing.

"I did," Hermione paused a moment, she knew the path they were taking and if things hadn't changed too much over the past century they would be at the Quidditch trophy case in another minute or so. A case which would have a shiny new plaque from last years winners. All she had to do was stall until then.

"I suppose I should ask you what you would like me to address first because there is quite a lot to unpack," Not the best stalling tactic because if Albus asked the wrong question she was entirely screwed, but every second she was able to divert the conversation would be of the utmost importance because it got her another second to find the year.

"You're wearing a wand holster but have no wand. What happened to your wand?"

"A spell went wrong a little while ago and my wand shattered. It's in quite a hopeless state now and I doubt that I would be able to find it, let alone fix it anymore."

"If it happened so long ago, then why are you still wearing your holster?"

The case was just around the corner and he was throwing her softballs, she would be able to do this.

"It's more of a force of habit than anything else. Like I said earlier war is everywhere and I don't like walking around unprepared."

Dumbledore's steps slowed and Hermione's heart felt as though her heart would beat out of her chest. She could see the side of the case now, all she needed was to be a few meters closer, and then she would know.

"Hermione, you'll find that I am not a fan of those who aren't honest with me and I don't believe that you are being honest with me now," Hermione was unsure if she liked this younger version of Dumbledore. He seemed to be a tad blunter than the other version was, but Hermione also wondered if maybe his tactics had just changed a bit over the year. From the stories she heard from Professor McGonagall, Albus quite enjoyed infuriating those around him and it seemed as though he did so to provoke a reaction from those he was dealing with.

Hermione continued at the same pace but made it quite clear that she was going to remove the holster. Her hand began to unbuckle the first clasp and slowly made its way down her arm as she took care to stop immediately in front of the trophy case. While Albus' eyes were on her forearm, she was scanning the case to see what year it was and there she saw it. There was 28 so she had missed Tom's birth, 33, 35,38 she had missed his first year of Hogwarts, 41, 42, 43 she was unable to stop him from opening the Chamber of Secrets, and finally 44 which meant he had made his first horcrux and had most likely killed the Riddle line depending on how far into the year they were. She wouldn't let herself be defeated by what he had already done, she would attempt to guide him properly, and if that didn't work then she would kill him.

"Professor Dumbledore, I am about to tell you something that would land me in Azkaban for the rest of my life or have me executed on the spot. I am not from this time, but I was sent to make sure the horrors that I lived through will never exist and you are the only one who can help me."


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

"Until you realize how easy it is for your mind to be manipulated, you remain the puppet of someone else's game." - Evita Ochel

* * *

She was not being honest with him. She may not have been lying to him outright, but she was not telling the whole truth. This young girl, Hermione, was playing he and Gellert's game. Pointed questions that were met with vague answers that left one questioning themselves or the world. It was a wonderful diversion tactic, but again it was just that – a diversion.

"Hermione, you'll find that I am not a fan of those who aren't honest with me and I don't believe that you are being honest with me now."

The words seemed to get her attention because her pace slowed and she paused for half a moment, her hand twitching towards her wrist seemingly subconsciously. The wrist where her wand holster was covering what he assumed must be the worst of her scars. The puckered, red skin was slightly peeking through the gaps and it was the single scar she had attempted to hide. She wore the rest proudly, but not this one. Her movements towards her wrist seemed uncertain. It was as though she thought merely touching the scar would put her through the same pain again. There were several occasions where Albus thought she may stop. Small faults in how she unbuckled the straps or a slight hesitation as she pulled another strap loose.

With each strap, it became clearer that this was no ordinary scar from a spell gone wrong. There were letters on her arm. Letters with small hitches in the sides as though a blade had gotten caught in the skin it was tearing through. This wasn't a scar that had been engraved by a wand. Someone had pinned the girl down and pushed a cursed blade, judging from the dark magic oozing off of the red lines, into her skin as her body shook. The slight shakes in each letter showed that this girl – Hermione if that was her name – had been conscious throughout the entire ordeal.

She opened her mouth and Albus assumed she would be explaining the scar, that she would end up in Azkaban for what she did to the person who had maimed her, but he was shocked to realize that not only was she not from this place, but that she was not from this time either. He had a million questions rushing through his mind and he didn't know which he wished to ask first, but Hermione didn't allow him that chance.

"You sent me back professor. It may seem irrational to you now, but the great war occurring with Grindelwald now is nothing compared to the wars yet to come. Over a third of the wizarding population in Great Britain will be decimated in a single war that the ministry will refuse to even acknowledge. It will take place in Britain, and only Britain, but the ministry will take no action. You are the only wizard with enough power to draw together a group to fight this silent war and for a while you thought it may have ended – most of the world did, but a decade later the war will resume again, and your opponents will become more ruthless, more blatant, and seize control of the ministry. Eventually, they make their move to seize control of Hogwarts as well and that's when you realize there is no way out because at that point in time you realize that the figurehead of this war, a wizard who you believe to be on equal standing with yourself, has an unfair advantage… he has horcruxes. "

"He has not made just one, but seven which are scattered across the continent. You did your best to track all of these horcruxes down, but in your hunt you discover, far too late, that one of the objects is cursed. Your fingers blacken and shrivel, then the rest of your hand and the curse is going to run its course. You know you are going to die, so you make your death matter. You have one of your spies kill you so he solidifies the enemy's trust and your chosen one can continue on in his hunt for the horcruxes. It is a perilous hunt and one that you know may not succeed, so you send others on the mission with your chosen one. He is bullheaded and refuses to give up the fight – if anyone stands a chance at killing the enemy it is him, but you know that isn't enough, so you make sure the chosen one has friends."

"Friends who compliment him in every way. You chose another boy who is an incredible strategist and who knows the things about wizarding culture that the chosen one does not. You also chose a young girl whose intelligence is unmatched and who is the only one that can keep the two bullheaded boys on task. You give each of them the same talk that you gave to the chosen one, but you decide to tell the girl something different. You give the logical girl your back-up plan. You know that you will be dead in half a year and there's a high probability that so will your golden trio, but you decide to tell her just in case. You tell her she must go back in time and stop this mess."

"You tell her this because she is the only one of the trio who will remember each and every detail about your past and know how to navigate through the potential minefields of being in another time. She is the only one whose looks wouldn't give her away in an instant because, you see, those two boys look like their fathers and their fathers before them, but this girl doesn't have those ties. This girl is a mudblood who can be anyone who she needs to be and this girl is strong enough to endure the adoption ritual once you decide who she must be – Hermione Carina Black. The child of your friend Phineas Black and his young bride Eshe Kama who are entirely disconnected from the British wizarding world, who easily could have had a child without anyone knowing, and who died this year when Grindelwald swept through the little French town where they stayed."

"You tell the girl details about your life that you've never told anyone before so that way she will gain your past self's trust. You educate her on her family tree which takes some time for the Black family but is quite simple for her mother's side because they have all died off before this war began. You do everything in your power to prepare her before you die. When you do die, the girl leaves to hunt horcruxes with the chosen one and she sees the world around her falling apart. She watches as friends and family die. She watches as the enemy no longer feels the need to hide. She suffers through their torture and finds herself permanently branded because of it. She survives while everyone around her dies and then she attempts the ancient ritual you left her and somehow she succeeds."

Hermione's voice has faded to just above a whisper by the time she finished and Albus finds himself wanting to wrap his arms around the girl. She was not outwardly emotional, but he could feel the way her magic shifted as her tale continued. He felt as though he were locked into place when her magic pushed down on him as though it were portraying the burden he had placed on her so long ago. She was just like his little Ariana – so smart, so powerful, and so terribly burdened. He saw why he chose her, why he didn't want her to die.

* * *

It was a lie. A glaring lie shrouded by the truth. Albus had never chosen her for a thing, but his ego was so conflated that this would be the only way he would accept her. Albus had always been guilty of thinking that he was the smartest person in the room and this time Hermione took advantage of that. Dumbledore would never question his own motives especially from a girl who seemed so harmless. Hermione may have shown how powerful she was, but Dumbledore would never take that seriously. It was the 1940s in Great Britain no man would take her seriously until she made them and now was not that time. She needed Dumbledore to underestimate her. She needed him to believe that he had been the master of her every decision since she had arrived. He didn't need to know that she hadn't arrived at the right place or the right time. He had to think that things were going perfectly to plan and Hermione thought she did a damn good job of convincing him of that.

She was extremely grateful for the time she had spent studying the Black family tree because that allowed her to recall the disgraced and disowned Phineas Black who had befriended a young Dumbledore. Phineas Black who was rumored to have had an affair with the last of the Kama line before he died in the second wave of Grindelwald's attacks. She didn't have Kama blood, but that wouldn't matter. No one would be able to test her on that, her dark skin alone would make her Kama heritage clear, it was the Black heritage she would be tested on and thanks to Dorea Black, Harry's lovely grandmother, she had such magic in her blood and enough of it to pass any test required. Odds were that the Black family would reject her anyway until she proved her worth, but her "pure" heritage would be enough to bypass most of the harassment she may face and, hopefully, pique Tom's interest.

"I suppose you'll be my new ward then. Afterall your father and I were the best of friends and you have no other family that knows of your existence."

Hermione nodded her head firmly, quite glad that Albus knew enough not to ask any more questions and play along with the story from here on out.

"I'll have some house elves send up some food while I summon a few people to come to meet you so you can explain what happened to your family and the incident in Diagon Alley before anything else may occur."

Hermione nodded again as she stepped into his office, unable to hold back her smile as Albus told the Red Lady " _lemon drops"_ to allow the two of them in – Albus was too predictable. She knew that when he left he would be gathering the headmaster and some other ministry official because of her stunning arrival. It would be no issue for her to play the grieving young girl in front of them because that was the role she attempted to hide from the world most of the time. All it took was spots of truth and they would believe her. If she had convinced Dumbledore, then the rest of the world would be no issue.

She secured the wand holster back over her scar almost instantly. She knew she would have to cast a permanent sticking charm on her holster and a powerful glamour over the scar itself to avoid any questions. The easiest way to blow her cover was her scar and Bellatrix had made it terribly hard to hide. She would probably have to take some extra time researching ways to possibly heal her arm with Dumbledore although she felt as though she had exhausted the possibilities on her own. If worse came to worse, she would change the scar herself with another cursed blade. There were runes she could create out of the letters already imprinted on her skin. Runes that would symbolize power and protection, two things someone caught in a war would desperately want to have. Two things a person might be so desperate for that they would permanently mar their skin.

When Dumbledore walked back through the door with who she recognized as Headmaster Dippet and a man who reminded her quite a bit of Winston Churchill, Hermione was picking at a sandwich the elves had given her after insisting that "young miss is too thin too too thin".

"Hermione, dearest, I'd like to introduce you to the Headmaster, Armando Dippet, and our esteemed Minister of Magic, Leonard Spencer – Moon, both Headmaster Dippet and Minister Spencer – Moon are most interested in your story. I told them some of the basics, but we all thought it may be best if you filled them in on all the details."

Albus placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, an act of familiarity that made her skin crawl, but that she grinned and bore.

"Of course, Uncle Albus," She thought the Uncle would be a nice touch, "Good evening Headmaster Dippet, Minister Moon, I'm Hermione Black. It's lovely to meet you, although I do wish it were under better circumstances."

Watching Narcissa throughout her trial was a blessing because it allowed Hermione to match her mannerisms perfectly and become the wonderful little pureblood princess she was claiming to be.

"As I'm sure Uncle Albus has told you, my mother was Eshe Kama and my father was Phineas Black II," Hermione paused for a moment glancing down, memories of the war flashing through her mind.

"Grindelwald attacked our village several months ago and they were both killed. I managed to make it out alive and joined the resistance, I fought with everything I had and so did those around me, but last night that wasn't enough. We were found out and I had to watch as my friends were tortured and killed."

She paused once more, her mind flashing back to Fenrir's rude comments during her torture and she knew exactly which route she would be taking with this.

"They were taken out one by one and I was the last one left. They tortured me until morning came, but then one of them decided that he wanted to have a _taste_ of me so they stopped," She felt tears coming to her eyes at the thought of her actual torture and she remembered how much she wished for death at that moment.

"He climbed on top of me and attempted to curse me to keep me still, but I managed to grab his wand. I pushed him away and tried to apparate, but I wasn't able to focus... I couldn't keep one place in mind and he was trying to snatch his wand out of my hand and he succeeded in getting it away from me, but I could already feel that pull in my stomach and then I was gone. Everything went dark and I thought I had died … I wish I had died, but then I was awake and all these people were around me who I didn't know. My magic just lashed out, it was trying to calm me down, but everything started to sink in. All of my friends, all of my family… I'll never see them again. I let them die and I couldn't handle it. I broke down," She turned her head towards the minister, "That's when your aurors found me when I was crying on the ground."

Hermione took a deep breath and wiped her eyes.

"I know that I should have stayed in the cell I was in without complaint, but being on the run for so long and having my magic restrained… I just couldn't handle it. When I had calmed myself enough to think straight I remembered Uncle Albus and his visits, the only family – even though it may not be by blood – that I had left."

Hermione looked up to Albus with a smile for good measure and then looked back at the two men sitting in front of her.

"I'm truly sorry about all of the fuss I caused. Uncle Albus was explaining it to me before I arrived. I really don't want to be any trouble, it's just… I have nowhere else to go and Uncle Albus said you two might help me."

This point in her speech was the queue for Hermione to direct her big, brown, teary eyes at Dippet.

"Headmaster, Albus has told me so many stories of Hogwarts and how wonderful it is, but father was always afraid to send me there. He was nervous about what his old family may do to me, but he and Mama won't be able to teach me anymore and anything is better than the hell that is France right now. Please sir, may I stay and study at Hogwarts for this year just until I am of age?"

* * *

"Abraxas, you have good news I hope?"

The smile on Tom's lip was all too familiar and Abraxas knew Tom was already thinking of the various ways he could curse him if his information was not up to par. Thankfully, Abraxas was sure that what he had discovered would please Tom as much as anything could.

"I do. Father met with the Minister earlier today and found out about Diagon Alley's fallen angel as they've taken to calling her."

Tom raised a brow in interested and tilted his head for Abraxas to continue his tale.

"She was a part of the war as you suspected my lord. She was a fighter in the resistance against Grindelwald because he had killed her parents."

Tom raised his hand and Abraxas immediately stopped, "Is she a mudblood or is she someone who may be worthy of our cause?"

"She is not a mudblood my lord. She is a pureblood, she is technically a member of the Sacred 28 or at least she would be if it weren't for her muggle sympathizing father. She is a Black. Hermione Carina Black to be exact. The son of Phineas Black II who was disowned by his father, the headmaster before Dippet, Phineas Nigellus Black. He fled to France after being cut off from his family and being decimated socially and he managed to meet a young Eshe Kama who is was the last remaining member of her family. According to father, Hermione was trained by her mother and father her entire life because her father lived in fear of what his mother might do to her if she found out. Father also says that the Kama family had quite a few enemies in France and that's why they have basically died out at this point."

Abraxas paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer Tom's initial question.

"I do not know if she will support our cause my lord, but you will be able to determine her worth for yourself. Father says that she will be joining us at Hogwarts next week."


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** Hey y'all! I know that it's been a while since my last post, but I was in a little bit of a rut. I kept writing and deleting scenes from this chapter because I was trying to decide what fit the best with the narrative I'm trying to pursue. I'm sorry if there are any errors in this, feel free to let me know about them. I am hopelessly un-beta'd right now. I've sent out a few requests, but I haven't gotten any hits so please just bear with me as I do my best to resolve any issues that do come up. Thank you again for reading and for putting up with my whack schedule. I love you all. P.S. I've been responding to some of the reviews in Private Messages, let me know if that isn't the best way. If it's not then I will do a little footnote with all my responses each chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"Your appearance can be a weapon. As powerful as any knife or gun." - B.

* * *

Hermione was used to people staring at her. They had stared at her all her life, but she hadn't seen anything quite like this before. These people weren't staring at her in hatred or adoration, but rather they were watching her as though she were some lab rat who was just given a dose of experimental medicine. They seemed to have no clue what she would do next. Most people in Diagon Alley had seen her before – whether they were there the day she fell from the sky or they saw her picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet. No one knew what to think because they had a single experience with her which had only shown two things – she was incredibly powerful and incredibly broken. Yet, today the crowd didn't see either of those things. The girl in front of them was not laying on the crowd crying for those she had lost.

She was strutting through the streets with defiance in her eyes. It didn't matter that she was wearing tattered-old robes donated from Hogwarts. She walked as though she wore the finest of silks. Even if she hadn't been on the front page of the Prophet, she would have stood out. It wasn't often that women went out alone, especially not ones of her age. She wore no jewelry to implicate that she was taken, yet she walked with the freedom of one who was protected. Although that was only what people noticed when they looked closely, most people were fascinated by where she might be from. She wasn't any shade of white they had seen before, but she wasn't entirely dark either. She was a strange in-between. A shade that showed she didn't belong to either group, which begged the question: what was she? Was she from some far-off land that they hadn't heard of? Was she a combination of the two? The former meant she was something new to be poked and prodded at. The latter meant she was something rare which bred curiosity and contempt.

Hermione paid no mind to any of the stares. Although they may be different, they were still stares. The people could hate her or love her. She had experienced both and found she didn't quite care what the general public thought either way. All that mattered was that she make them respect her which is why, no matter how much she wanted to, she would not be getting her wand first. Hermione thought she must do as Narcissa would and Narcissa would go get out of these "filthy robes" immediately. This meant the first stop had to be Madam Malkin's.

"How may I help you, dearie?"

As soon as Hermione walked into the shop a young woman was in front of her. The little hair she had was rolled tightly atop her head and even that seemed like it would be enough to make the small girl topple over. Hermione hadn't eaten consistently for over a year, but next to the shop girl Hermione looked quite large. Her bone structure alone was enough to outweigh the peppy little shrimp in-front of her. Hermione put on her Narcissa smile – just a hint of teeth showing with a gentle nod of the head – and took her time looking over the shop before speaking.

"Yes, I'm in need of a full wardrobe. I prefer blacks, reds, and greens, but I assume you know how to color-match?" Hermione raised her brows slightly with her question and the little girl rapidly nodded, so Hermione continued. "Then do so and compile everything I need. Don't worry about the price, just get me the best of what you have in this little shop and quickly. I'll take a set of robes now for the rest of my shopping and then I'll be back at the end of the day to collect the rest."

Narcissa wouldn't ask for this to be done, she would tell them, and it would happen. That was what Hermione had to do. Using Phineas and Eshe as her parents meant that she would have to be the perfect pureblood princess. She might be able to play off some lapses in her image because she had been "kept from wizarding society" for so long, but she would do her best to avoid that altogether. This meant that she would act the same way in every other shop she went to, giving them the list of what she needed and then telling them that she would be returning to collect it. This would also be her first test of acting like a pureblood in the 1940s. Dealing with shop owners meant that she would get to see if anything on her lists either didn't exist yet, which all of it should, or if things might be far less common – which was a bit more likely.

The girl taking Hermione's measurement was trembling at this point and neither Hermione nor the girl were sure if it was because of the way she had spoken or the sheer magical energy she could sense when she got close enough to take the measurement.

"Pardon me miss, but what name should I put it under?"

"Hermione Black."

At Hermione's words, the girl's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped only to be quickly snapped back shut as she saw the way Hermione's eyes narrowed. She handed Hermione a new set of robes without a word and disappeared so Hermione could change.

"I'll be back after five," Hermione called out as she left.

* * *

This shop was his life. He had grown up knowing that one day he would run the shop and so would his children after him. Garrick Ollivander knew the importance of the work he was doing. Wands not only chose the wizard, but they made them. A great wizard would find it hard to be great without a wand to match. Great wizards and witches were always the hardest to pair with the right wand. Garrick liked to believe that the only reason why he hadn't had too many particularly difficult pairings in the last few years was because he was getting better and reading the young children who walked through the door. Yet, he knew that wasn't the case. If you match a child with an unfit wand, the reaction of the wand indicates what to do next. With young children, it is the easiest because on the whole, their magic is so pure that their natural strengths will instantly shine through. The reaction of the wand and the magic together creates a path which in most cases is incredibly clear, but for the most powerful of wizards, things get a bit muggier. Powerful magic can make a weaker wand bend to its will. These cases are few and far between, but for the first time in nearly a decade, Ollivander was faced with a case like this again.

Twelve wands. The girl who had walked into his shop had gone through twelve wands, all of which obeyed her, and all of which she shook her head at.

"It doesn't feel right. My magic isn't happy with it."

This girl was no child, but she looked to be of schooling age. How could one so young be so in-tune with her magic? The last time he had a case like this was when a dueling champion's wand had been snapped back in thirty-three and even then that man wasn't able to convince so many wands to do his bidding.

Garrick would admit that finding a wand after forging your bond with your first was much harder, but it shouldn't be anything like this. Older wizards would go through two maybe three wands, but by then the true match always made itself clear. This girl had appeared out of nowhere and was quickly working her way through his inventory. Admittedly, his initial read on her hadn't been the best but he wasn't getting any hints from the wands. For once in his life he was praying for his windows to shatter or for the vase full of flowers in the back to die. If only he could see a negative reaction, then he would know where to go. Negative reactions were the best signal of the next wand to try. If a Yew wand revolts against a wizard, then its opposite, willow, is almost always what the wizard will end up with. He had given this girl yew and then willow, dragon heartstring and then unicorn hair. The opposite combinations all worked for her, but none of them were right.

Garrick was cataloging all of the wands that he had in his mind, trying to determine what might be a match for the young girl waiting impatiently in front of him. He had given up on trying to take hints from the wands at this point, now he was focused on the strongest wands he had. Which combinations would be the most powerful which cores would provide her the most strength and which woods would compliment that then he was able to determine which want should be pulled next.

"Lucky number thirteen," The girl drawled out with a bored look on her face that only increased Garrick's determination to get the next one right. He pulled out a newer black box and slid it in front of her.

"11 inches long. Holly and Phoenix Feather."

His words were met with a sudden snap of her had which caused the chaotic mass of curls to move as though they had a life and magic of their own. It was the most reaction he had seen out of her since she had arrived, but she covered it as quickly as it had happened. She callously reached out for the wand and gave it a quick swish and flick. The wand did as all the other had and lifted the box it was in only a moment before. Garrick was nearly going to curse, how many wands could one witch try? But then she spoke.

"This is it," She slid the wand into her holster, grabbed a bag of galleons and tossed it on the counter, and left with a flourish calling out, "It's been a pleasure as always Mr. Ollivander, keep the change."

He had never seen her before, had he?

* * *

How Narcissa must have hated walking into this little shop. It was a hole-in-the-wall, to say the least. Not much larger than a ministry elevator and in a far worse state. There was dust covering the single wand on display in the window – the very same wand that was there the first time Hermione had come to see Ollivander. There were peeling gold letters over the door of the shop and the door itself was charred, no doubt from one of Ollivander's most recent customer, and inside wasn't much better. There was a small, decrepit desk with a broken wooden chair behind it and hundreds of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling behind that. There was dust on everything there which was a feat within itself considering how many children must have passed through it these past few days. It was everything that a pureblood princess should hate, and Hermione loved all of it.

When Ollivander turned to Hermione with that crooked smile saying, "Well you're quite a bit older than I'm used to. What can I do for you?" It took quite a bit for Hermione to keep her impassive face so she could keep up her appearances.

"I need a wand. My last one broke."

Short and to the point, that was how she sold this. The more she spoke, the more her personality would creep in. Once she was at Hogwarts surrounded by those who were supposed to be her peers then maybe she could let some of her facade down, but even then she would have to be careful. She couldn't let herself turn back into the swot she was all throughout school, it would give her away too easily.

"Thirteen inches. Unicorn hair and ash."

Ollivander had a large smile on his face, but Hermione just nodded curtly. She waved the wand, thinking _Wingardium Leviosa_ and the box rose along with her wand but something didn't feel right. The wand was listening to her, but everything in her magic was screaming no.

"This one isn't right."

The smile on Ollivander's face fell and his browns furrowed but he covered it quickly and brought her another wand and then another and another. Each time the same thing happened, she could get the wand to do as she pleased, but it didn't feel right. None of these wands called to her magic the way she knew they should. As wand after wand was discarded Hermione's hope and patience was diminishing. It seemed as though nothing would work, but then Ollivander brought out one of the few wands she would never forget.

"12 and three-quarters. Walnut and dragon heartstring."

Hermione kept her face impassive and kept to the routine, no matter how much she wanted to snap the wand before Bellatrix was even born she had to remind herself that she was changing the timeline. If Voldemort never came to power, then Bellatrix wouldn't have an excuse to let her dark magic run wild and maybe her madness wouldn't set in. For all she knew Bellatrix might not even be born after the way she manipulated the timeline. It was a waste to destroy such a powerful wand that could be used for good.

Hermione thought that they were actually doing quite well, out of the twelve wands she had seen only one was from a person that she knew in the future. Of course, her thinking that would have jinxed it because the very next wand nearly broke her. She would recognize it anywhere, she had seen it for years in classes and during late night homework sessions. She didn't need to hear Ollivander's description to know that this was Harry's wand. She picked it up, determined to just go through the motions, but as soon as she touched it her magic let her know that while this might not be the perfect wand it was what she needed. The wand felt like home and Hermione couldn't let it go. She would use it until she found her true wand and after that, she would keep it for Harry.

She couldn't stay any longer or she just might let the emotion overcome her, so she took a play from Snape's playbook and let her robes do the talking when she made her grand exit.

* * *

Tom was doing his final sweeps of the halls before the first-years arrived. Slughorn had already given him a "firm" talk about his responsibilities this year as Head Boy, well it was as firm a talk as Slughorn could give. Most of the time they spoke was spent discussing either Tom's future career or his prospects for a wife. Every time Tom told him, "I just haven't met the right girl yet, professor. I'm sure I'll find her soon," Slughorn just jovially patted Tom's back.

"Oh Tom, you sly dog you, I know that you're out there playing the field. Just be careful you hear, don't let all the good ones get snatched up and engaged. A good wife can do wonders for a political career," Those words drove Tom mad. He had heard some variation of them every year and it was a complete joke. It was his magical might that would engrain his legacy on the world, not some silly little girl who couldn't give him anything he didn't already have. Tom had more money than he would ever be able to spend because of the Malfoys were already supporting his cause and as soon as that old bat died, he would have the Black money too. He had all the sex he wanted because the girls threw themselves at his feet: married, engaged, or otherwise. He wouldn't need a wife to gain clout in the Ministry because he wouldn't be going through the Ministry in the typical fashion. If Grindelwald had taught him anything it was that a little bit of chaos went a long way and Tom already reveled in chaos and pain.

This was the year to put all of the groundwork in place. He had already created one horcrux and before the end of the school year, he would have another. He would have every protection in place before he went and faced Grindelwald himself. He wouldn't kill him, not yet at least. The constant visits from the ministry to the transfiguration classroom made it quite clear that old Albus and Grindelwald might take care of each other. It would look awfully suspicious if the only person who had ever made a negative claim about him disappeared right as he rose to power. No, it would be better if Grindelwald killed Albus and then Voldemort would swoop in like the hero he was always meant to be. Dear old Gellert didn't know it, but he had provided the perfect platform to capitalize on. Gellert was far too extreme to the general public, even if most of them agreed with what he had to say. That was where Tom's silver tongue and golden-boy reputation would benefit him while Voldemort was able to round up all of Grindelwald's followers in the background and kill them off.

It would be glorious. Voldemort and his Knights of Walpurgis would go around finishing off Grindelwald's troops and eventually Voldemort would kill Grindelwald himself. After Grindelwald was dead, it would come out that the Knights of Walpurgis were truly men who had just graduated from Hogwarts. They would be reluctant to reveal who was Voldemort at first, but then one of the boys would give in – it would have to be Abraxas or Orion, they had the most influence – and reveal that the real hero of this story was actually little, orphan Tom Riddle. This combined with a few flattering articles would have the majority of the Wizarding World on his side, his knights would take care of anyone who dared speak out against him, and the true power play would begin. He will gain control of Great Britain because the people will be begging him to do so.

All he needed was this year. He needed one year to properly train his knights and to plan for all the contingencies. After a year his trace would be gone, his knights would be ready to fight, and the power play would begin. One more year of enduring the snot-nosed first years who attempted to throw their name in his face before they realized how strong he was. One more year of listening Slughorn blabber on and on about what Tom "just has to do" with his future. One more year of playing the role of Tom Riddle. This persona was his masterpiece, but it was exhausting and at times humiliating. After he killed Grindelwald, he would never have to play this part again. He could be the savior, the hero, and he could do whatever he pleased.

"How was Diagon Alley?"

Dumbledore, Tom swore that every time he even thought of the wretched man's name he popped up.

"It was pleasant enough. The goblins gave me a bit of trouble, but that was to be expected. I was claiming quite a few vaults that they thought were theirs because they had been abandoned for the past century or so."

Tom hadn't heard this voice before and he could tell that this wasn't just some firstie who had gotten lost.

"Did you find a suitable wand?"

Tom thought he heard a sigh, but he was too far away to be certain.

"It will do for now, but it isn't meant for me."

 _What does that even mean? Is this girl just a younger Dumbledore?_ Tom thought to himself as he edged a bit closer. He wanted to be able to see the pair, but he had to avoid being seen.

"Did anyone recognize you?"

The girl let out a short laugh, one that Tom found was pretty similar to what he used when he was trying to appease Slughorn or Dippet.

"Many people did, it is hard not to stand out when you're the darkest person that most of these witches and wizards have seen in person. It's nearly impossible not to be recognized when you fell from the bloody sky and your face is plastered on every paper in the Wizarding World. None of them knew who I was though if that was what you were asking. Although I did tell a particularly gossipy seamstress my name so I wouldn't be surprised if the whole world didn't know by the end of the night."

"All that matters is that he knows."

Dumbledore's words were firm and Tom heard a small hum of agreement. All he could think about was who this person was. The obvious answer seemed to be Grindelwald, but why would Grindelwald want her. She was just another pureblood girl, who – from her showing in Diagon Alley – may be quite powerful but seemed to be in no condition to fight.

Tom was aching to hear more of their conversation, but the loud bustle of the first years coming up the stairs distracted him long enough for Dumbledore and the girl to slip away before he got the chance to hear any more and more importantly before he "randomly" got to introduce himself to the enigma that was Hermione Black.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** This chapter is a little bit longer than what I usually do, but I think that this scene needed to be fleshed out a little bit more. Just for reference because I have had a few people PM me about Hermione being a POC, but also being lighter in this story Hermione is mixed. If you want a specific sort of skin tone then look up some pics of Alicia Keys. I was going to make her a bit darker, but I realized that with all of the scars that Hermione has there could be a bit more variety in type and color on somewhat lighter skin. I envision Alicia Keys because she's really been rocking her natural look lately and there are pics of her where she is nice and dark, but also pics of her where she is a bit paler which is kinda how Hermione will be at first. After a year of hiding, she is going to be a bit lighter both in skin-tone and in weight. As she regains her health, she'll regain some of that beautiful melanin and some more curves. As always I am writing this without a beta so please forgive me for any mistakes I make. Let me know if you see something so that way I can fix it.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

"It's not the load that breaks you down, it's the way you carry it." – Lena Horne

* * *

The conversation he overheard in the hall had his mind reeling. Tom needed to know more about this stupid girl. She had caused such a fuss that all of the students in the hall were talking about her and even he was unable to take his mind off of her. Orion Black's yammering about how the girl from Diagon Alley couldn't possibly be a Black was driving him up the wall. He was speaking just like Walburga used to – all passion and no logic. It would sway the weaker minded listeners, but anyone with any sense of logic wouldn't be swayed. Tom didn't think that it was worth having things out with Walburga's parrot – while he didn't necessarily need the Black family money, it was always nice to have the power and influence which came with such an old name and Alphard had already proven to be a dud. Alphard stayed as far from politics as he could because, Tom suspected, his views were far more liberal than any of his family would allow. Alphard was by far the smartest and most tolerable of all the Blacks Tom had met so far. While it wasn't much harder to be smarter than Orion, Lucretia and Walburga – as insufferable as they may be – were whip-smart and the top two in their class before they graduated and Alphard, if he deigned to put any real effort in, could have been too if Tom wasn't there. Even as it currently stood Alphard was third in their class with extremely minimal effort on his part. He stayed to himself for the most part and didn't interject much in conversation. He seemed to prefer the Quidditch pitch to a classroom and his wand over his words. When he did speak, it always drew attention because everyone knew it must be a matter of great importance for him to speak up in front of a crowd.

"Cousin, I do wish you would stop blabbering on about that girl. For all we know great-uncle Phineas is her father. The family has had no contact with the man since before father was born."

"Even if she was Phineas' child she has no claim to our name. He was disowned, disinherited, so why would she try to go to Gringotts and get her share of our fortune."

Tom had heard Dumbledore and Hermione in the hallway discussing Gringotts. Had she truly tried to claim some of the Black vaults? If she had, the girl had no tact. If she ever stood a chance of being accepted by the Blacks, her going behind their back to claim their money had ended it.

"Orion, stop behaving like a petulant child and attempting to spread family business about the entirety of the Slytherin table. If you are going to do so then at least make sure the business you are telling is true or at the very least makes sense. First, you claim that she is of no relation, which is untrue. Then, you try to simultaneously argue that she is trying to steal our inheritance, which is once again untrue and conflicts with your earlier story. The girl did not attempt to take any of our money and the goblins confirmed that. Your grandfather made that abundantly clear, the goblins only notified him because she is another Black heir and would, technically, be able to inherit and they wanted to know if he wished to adjust his will. When he inquired about if the girl attempted to make any claim over our current vaults, the goblins told him no. She had other vaults to tend to. For Merlin's sake, she is a Kama, which if you remember from our lessons as children, means that she should have more than enough money on her own."

The Slytherin table fell silent when Alphard began berating his cousin. Not only did the tongue-lashing give some of them fuel against Orion, but it gave all of them knowledge about the girl who had been featured on the front page of the Daily Prophet for the past few days. Everyone wondered about who she was and a few Slytherins who had parents that worked at the Prophet had tried to say that she was the daughter of a disgraced Black, but no one had believed them. The Blacks boasted that they knew their family tree back to the dark ages, how would they not know about one of their own having a daughter in France? Yet, Alphard Black had just confirmed those stories and with that unintentionally confirmed the other story attached to that which said she would be coming here. When the first-years began to pile in, everyone's eyes turned to the nervous group but the Slytherins were awaiting her arrival. Tom felt disappointment wash over him for a moment when he realized that she hadn't come in with the group of firsties. He spent the entirety of the Sorting awaiting her arrival and when Dippet began to speak, his mind was already cataloging how many curses he could use against Abraxas for giving him false information, but instead of launching into his usual speech Dippet had changed things.

"As you all know, there has been a war plaguing the Wizarding community. We, here at Hogwarts, have been lucky enough to be a bit more distanced from the fight than some of the other schools like Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. There they are immersed in a fight and their students may have witnessed many of the horrors of war, but we have avoided that fate. Today, we are doing something that hasn't been done in centuries – we are accepting a transfer student. I am sure that many of you have seen her in the news, some of you may have been in Diagon Alley the day that she was there, but none of you know her. Young Hermione is an incredibly sweet girl who has gone through things I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, so I beseech you all to be warm and welcoming to her. Help Hogwarts become her new home because the war has taken away the only home she had ever known."

Dumbledore rose while Dippet neared the end of his speech and slipped out of the Great Hall to grab Hermione. Dippet's speech was far more emotional than anything he had ever done in the past and Tom almost felt bad for the girl – not because of what happened during the war, but because Dippet had decided to tell the entire Great Hall about some of her life. Even the little information given was far more than Tom would ever be comfortable sharing. That information would be a weakness that the Slytherins would try to exploit.

The Great Hall was dead silent after Dippet finished speaking. The girl hadn't arrived yet, but with Dumbledore leaving it was clear that she would soon. The anticipation seemed to be building throughout the room, a few first-years had broken the silence by asking what Dippet had meant by war or why they would know the girl. Tom could hear a few older students explaining at the Ravenclaw table. The new Slytherins either knew or were smart enough not to ask. Yet, at all of the other tables there were hushed whispers which he was sure were mirror images of the conversation he could hear Penelope Clearwater having with the Ravenclaw firsties, but all of the whispers came to an abrupt stop when the Great Hall's doors opened.

Dumbledore partially obstructed Tom's view, but he could see the wild curls that he had spotted in Diagon Alley. He had no doubt that this was her, even if he had watched from afar. He found himself wanting to crane his neck like so many of his housemates were doing to try and get a good look. The damn Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were openly gawking because they could see her so clearly. She and Dumbledore were walking at an even-pace and it was only when Dumbledore spoke that Tom was able to get a good look at her. In this lighting, he realized that she was objectively quite pretty, but that wasn't his focus. Her robes obstructed most of his view which was quite disappointing. He could barely see her in Diagon Alley and now that he had gotten a chance to look at her, he couldn't. The robes covered most of the scars that he had seen from afar. There was one scar, in particular, that was on display which was down the side of her neck. Her wild mane was pulled back into a ponytail exposing a stunning set of white lines on the side of her throat. Even from his seat, he could see the sharp contrast between the four white lines and her warm, tawny, brown skin. The marks on her neck almost looked like they had been caused by claws, but what claws would she have come into contact with? Her face looked tight and he wished he was closer so he could see her eyes. The eyes were the windows to the soul and if he got lucky, she wouldn't have any shields up and then maybe he could skim some of her thoughts. Instead, the Slytherins were forced to the far side of the hall and he was left unable to do anything but wait to get closer so he could do a full examination.

"I am sure that Headmaster Dippet explained the unusual predicament we are in, but as deputy Headmaster, it is my duty to conduct the sortings and tonight we do have one last student: Hermione Black."

After she sat, she quickly pulled her hair down as though she knew the hat was about to be placed on her head. Her dark curls covered the current object of Tom's attention, so he tried to focus on her face. She didn't express any outward surprise like most did when the hat was placed on her head. It was a startling event to have a hat talking to you and ruffling through your mind to decide where you should be placed. She did smile though which was extremely strange because after that smile there was no announcement. Tom didn't know if it was his curiosity that was dragging time on or his impatience to meet her, but he was slightly relieved to find he was not alone. He saw one Slytherin cast a tempus to his left to check just how much time had gone by. Tom's eyes would flicker from the floating time to Hermione. After her initial smile, her face remained impassive. Every so often she would nod slightly as though she were agreeing with the hat, but no decisions were being made. After the fourth minute had passed, Tom saw the Prewetts taking wagers on which house she would be sorted into. All of it was blind speculation because she was a pureblood, but if the tale about her father was true then she also loved muggles. That could put her in either Slytherin or Gryffindor. If she was as broken as she looked when he saw her last then maybe she would go into Hufflepuff because she just couldn't take it anywhere else or if that spell she did wasn't accidental but intentional then she could be a Ravenclaw because it does take quite a bit of studying to master nonverbal spells. After the fifth minute, people began to wonder if this constituted a hatstall. After the sixth minute, all of the students were convinced it was a hatstall. After the seventh minute, the hat spoke.

* * *

Three hundred and sixty-four days.

For three hundred and sixty-four days a year, three hundred and sixty-five during leap years, he did absolutely nothing. There was a single day a year where he did enough work to exhaust himself. One day where he met children and analyzed every part of their being. Where he got to know those children better than they knew themselves. It wasn't always like this though, when Salazar and Rowena had created him, he was constantly used. At first, they used him on themselves and others just to make sure that he had the values of each of the founders engrained into his mind and that he was assigning children properly. After he had proven that he worked, they used him whenever they took in new students – which could have been any day of the year. Back then, Hogwarts didn't have a summer break. Back then, Hogwarts ran year-round because it was the safe haven that its students needed. The muggles were vicious and would take out any child who showed the smallest amount of magical ability. Muggleborns stayed at the castle because they had nowhere else to go. Purebloods and half-bloods stayed because they didn't want to miss out on any of their masters' teachings. Godric, Rowena, Salazar, and Helga were all marvels in their own right, but to be taught by all four of them was a privilege that no witch or wizard dared to question. It was simpler back then; all four founders were still there and they could dissuade any myths or rumors themselves.

Now, it was much harder for the Sorting Hat to convince new generations of the true nature of each of the founders. Now, he only had a day to interact with the students and they came in much too young for a true determination to be made. How was he supposed to properly sort children who had no life experiences? It took seeing how a person reacted when confronted with a great loss or a life-or-death situation to know what values were truly at their core. Headmasters had argued with him, tried to tell him that the impression he got from their young minds was the purest impression he would even have. They didn't seem to grasp that purity wasn't the determining factor. It doesn't matter how a child initially feels about something, what matters is if they hold onto those beliefs no matter how much they are tested. It took corruption to see where a person truly fell because only then would their true strengths and weaknesses be revealed. It didn't help that with how long Hogwarts had been open the children were starting to get certain ideas in their mind about what each house was like. Depending on where the student came from, their views of each of the houses could greatly vary. These views resulted in children begging to be in one house or refusing to be in another, and it was getting incredibly hard for the hat to fight them.

They were so young that he couldn't get a true reading, so he oftentimes did take their opinions to heart. The way that their thoughts came rushing into him as he openly pondered which house they should be in seemed to say more about which house they should go to than their lack-luster experiences. A child who questioned why they were meant to be in one house more than another, usually leaned towards Ravenclaw. Children who had no shame openly berating him for his choices without any apology after they realized he had heard all of their thoughts, tended to be Gryffindors. Sometimes things were just that straight-forward, but there were nuances that he had begun to notice. Children with a strong sense of conviction, even if they may not have the courage to act on it quite yet, should be in Gryffindor where that courage would be fostered. Children whose sense of loyalty was so strong that they begged to be in a house with one of their friends or siblings – solely because of their connection with them and no other extenuating forces – were Hufflepuffs through and through. Without experiences, it was their reaction and his own instinct – or the instinct of each of the founders, depending on how you looked at it – that guided him.

The sorting of Hermione Granger had nothing to do with instinct.

When he was placed atop Hermione Granger's head, the Sorting Hat had quite a shock. She was no child and, for the first time ever, he had sorted her before – even if this version of him hadn't.

"Ms. Granger, I would say it's lovely to meet you again, but I'm afraid that encounter hasn't taken place quite yet."

It was quite beautiful how much control she had over her thoughts when he spoke. Most people just kept a steady stream of consciousness – processing what he said and replying without realizing that they had done so. Ms. Granger, on the other hand, replied like this was a true conversation. She didn't linger on his words, she just replied to him.

"I'd daresay that's lucky for you. I'm sure you can see how many questions I asked your future-self," Hermione was sure that a small smile had crept onto her lips at the memory of her first sorting.

"Ahh yes, it seems as though I debated on which house to put you in for a short while. What did we narrow it down to then," The hat paused for a moment replaying the memory for himself "Yes, that's it, you were bound to be Ravenclaw or Gryffindor back then."

"Back then? Is it different now?"

"Of course, it's different now Ms. Granger. You are a woman-grown and you have lived through a war. I would have been quite disappointed if nothing changed for you in all that time."

Yes, she was an interesting case. He had finally been given what he had asked for all these years, but with her, it was so much more complicated. She had been fostered as a lion and her traits had begun to grow as such, but then the war came and she was forced to take on so many contradicting attributes.

"What, in your opinion, has changed?"

"Almost everything my dear. Ravenclaw would never be a fit for you now. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin – those are the places where you might belong."

Hermione's thoughts ran slightly away from her as she shot out questions after each of his statements.

"Why wouldn't I be a Ravenclaw? How on earth am I a Hufflepuff?! And what has changed so much that I may no longer be a Gryffindor?"

The hat chuckled softly and began running through her questions.

"You are no Ravenclaw because emotions dictate everything you do. Yes, you do question every aspect of life, but a curious mind can be held by any of the houses. Your thirst for knowledge has never been just for the sake of knowledge. You recognize the power that knowledge holds and that is why you want it. That in combination with that fiery temper of yours instantly rules out Ravenclaw."

That hat paused for a moment allowing the meaning of what he said to sink into her mind. She, surprisingly, did not argue with any of the points he made and so he continued.

"Now Hufflepuff isn't the weak house you believe. If you recall Cedric was a Hufflepuff and he was no little flower. Integrity and loyalty guide a true Hufflepuff and you are loyal to a fault. For the girl who refused to fly an airplane with her parents because "man was not made to be that high off the ground" you blindly followed Harry into situations far more dangerous than that. You fought for him with every ounce of your being and you would have gone mad before revealing any of his secrets. You knew what Bellatrix's torture had done to Neville's parents, yet you kept your mouth shut. You even had the audacity to lie straight to her face knowing that the consequences may cost you your life. That moment alone embodies everything that Helga stood for, but your integrity since then has taken a bit of a dip which means maybe Hufflepuff isn't the place for you."

"So why not Gryffindor? It only makes sense. I am a Gryffindor through and through."

"It isn't that Gryffindor is a bad fit for you – as a matter of a fact, Gryffindor is a good fit for you – but it's that Gryffindor isn't the best fit for you. In your time, it was the right choice because you still had to grow. You would be unable to fight the prejudices you would have faced in Slytherin and that could have crushed your young spirit or taken you down a darker path, but now it seems as though it is the only fitting house. While you show characteristics of the other houses, the war has made it so Slytherin is your true home. Everything you have done to get here has displayed extreme cunning and your ambition has only grown. If that's not enough, remember why you are here. You are here to save the world from Voldemort whether that means saving or killing Tom Riddle. It would be much harder to observe Mr. Riddle if the two of you were placed in different houses. If you want to attract his attention, then you have to be near him – no matter how hard it may be."

He said what Hermione should have expected all along, but there was something about hearing that she had to be a Slytherin out loud that made it hit home just a bit more. It felt like a betrayal to switch houses at all – let alone to become a bloody Slytherin.

The hat returned her back to the Great Hall and allowed her to catch her bearings before making its announcement. The hall seemed to be a combination of curiosity, awe, and boredom which was pretty similar to the last time she had been sorted. Last time, it had taken four and a half minutes for the hat to decide between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Hermione hated to think how long she had been under while the hat worked out where she belonged between Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. Although she was beginning to believe that the hat's explanation was just to make her feel better about the house he was going to scream at the top of his lungs.

"It'll be…" All eyes fixed on her once more as the hat had uttered its first words in seven minutes and twenty-one seconds, "SLYTHERIN!"

There was small applause at the other three tables and a bit louder applause at the Slytherin table. There was no whooping and hollering like she would have been greeted with if she had gone to Gryffindor again, but Hermione had expected as much. The Slytherins were a bit more reserved, they refused to let themselves be made fools of. Hermione had also expected several sneers to be directed her way from either purebloods who hated the fact that she had claimed the Black name or racists who simply didn't like her darker complexion and natural curls. It was the smiling face of one Alphard Black who looked stunningly similar to a young Sirius that had Hermione approaching.

Tom's eyes widened at the hat's proclamation, but he wasn't complaining. The closer the girl was, the more he could learn about her. As she walked towards the Slytherin table, he was finally able to see her without anything else in the way. She carried herself proudly indicating that she had been raised as the pureblood princess she was supposed to be, but there was a fire in her eyes that left him wondering just how much she went through. She looked as though she could decimate everyone at the table with a single glare and she was doing them all a favor by deciding not to do so. She was heading straight towards his section of the table and Tom prepared his largest grin for her. Her eyes seemed to soften a bit and she gave a small smile herself. When she reached out her hand, Tom prepared to grab it – fantastically glad that his good looks were already doing most of the work for him – but then he recognized that her hand was not extended to him. She was holding her hand out to Alphard fucking Black.


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

 **A/N:** Okay, so it's been a little while since I've posted. I've been super busy with finals, but to make up for it this chapter is def longer than usual. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter even though it kind of came to me in waves. This chapter brings in a lot of the characters' grandparents or parents in some cases and I've tried to name them appropriately. Either I gave them the canon name (if they had one), I gave them a name I see a lot in fanfics, or I made up a name based off of what the family naming policy seems to be. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

"I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me." - Virginia Woolf

* * *

Hermione hadn't meant to ignore Tom Riddle at first. She simply couldn't help herself from approaching the man who appeared to be Sirius' twin. Only after Hermione extended her hand to Alphard, did she notice Tom Riddle. She recognized the overly perfect boy from the countless photos she had reviewed when examining his life. In the photos, he was truly the picture of perfection. Now, she could see the annoyance creeping into his eyes. He did his best to cover it quickly when he noticed her eyes had shifted his way, choosing to flash her a stunning grin that was intended to hide any semblance of annoyance from his face. She wondered how often he did that. She assumed that he would have perfected the skill by now. Most people weren't very observant in the first place, so he probably got away with it. Before the war, Hermione had to admit that she probably wouldn't have noticed either. He was quite quick about covering any negative emotions but living for a year on the run made Hermione so paranoid that she rarely missed a single detail. The smart thing to do would have been to appease Tom, but Hermione didn't know if she could right now. Seeing Tom in person was nothing like all the research she had done. He wasn't a broken child anymore, he was almost of age, and he had committed numerous atrocities at this point – he had murdered at least half a dozen people by now. Seeing him like this, knowing what he was capable of, Hermione realized that her residual anger and pain from the war still lingered and she wouldn't mind throwing a curse or two his way. She couldn't do that though, she had to channel Narcissa. She couldn't go around cursing everyone who angered her, especially if she wasn't supposed to know them yet. Instead of blowing her cover, Hermione decided that there was a more subtle way to attack Riddle and that was to disregard him entirely. Men, muggle or wizard, were always the same. Each male friend group had an alpha and the best way to undermine that group was for a female to disregard the alpha entirely. If a female turned her attention to the beta, the entire power structure would come into question, which would drive the alpha mad. Tom was obviously the alpha, all Hermione had to do was determine the beta.

"Cousin Alphard I presume," Alphard would be her in. He would be how she weaseled her way into the group and, if he was anything like Sirius described, he would be her best chance at any external protection against Tom. "It's nice to finally meet you, may I take a seat?"

All of the eyes at the Slytherin table were locked in on Hermione. She was supposedly exiled from the Black family, but she immediately approached the highest-ranking Black at the table. Better yet, Orion seemed to be positively fuming by her approach and Tom Riddle hadn't taken his eyes off the girl since she had walked in. Alphard smiled, began to nod, and opened his mouth to reply but Tom decided that it was his turn to cut in.

"Stunning women like you are always welcome to sit with us," Tom convinced himself that Hermione was simply too excited to see her long-lost cousin that she hadn't noticed him at first. His charm had never failed him before and it wouldn't fail him now. Soon enough she would have a faint blush coloring her cheeks and she would be throwing herself at his feet. "I'm sure that Abraxas and Thoros will slide over to give you a spot."

Tom's command was disguised as a soft suggestion, but both boys knew the consequences if they didn't obey. Thoros Nott slid to the side without a word, while Abraxas Malfoy gave Hermione a quick once over and the signature Malfoy smirk.

"Hello love, I'm Abraxas Malfoy. The oaf to your left is Thoros Nott and the man who just offered you a seat is our illustrious Head Boy, Tom Riddle."

Hermione gave a smile and a nod to Thoros and Tom, deciding that Abraxas must be the beta. Abraxas had insulted Thoros without missing a beat and the poor boy hadn't even reacted to it – indicating that it must be commonplace. Abraxas also had an extremely large fortune at his disposal which would make him invaluable to Tom. Hermione wasn't sure if the Black fortune or the Malfoy fortune was larger, but from what she remembered it took Tom a bit longer to sway the Blacks into giving him access to their pocketbooks because Sirius the first was still the patriarch of the family and refused to allow the family money to go towards any bad investments and a halfblood with no family name was a bad investment. Alphard and Orion were technically her cousins anyway, so flirting with them would not be very effective. Abraxas was her target and, from the greedy eyes he was giving her, she could tell that she was his.

"Cousin, are you sure that it's okay for me to be sitting here? I know that some of our family thinks that my father's actions define who I am," Hermione had to keep herself from laughing as Alphard's eyes flickered over to another boy with grey eyes and dark hair – Orion, she presumed. "But I'd hope that you can look past that."

Alphard nodded at her, "Of course, cousin."

"Your dear cousin is not a man of many words. If you are looking for conversation, it'd be best to look someplace else," Tom's tone was slightly clipped, and his frustration was slowly growing. Hermione hadn't spared him a glance since Abraxas had introduced him. After Tom spoke, Hermione's eyes narrowed and she responded in turn.

"And where are you suggesting I look, Riddle? To you?" Her tone was significantly sharper than it had been before. "Riddle's not a wizarding name that I've heard of. My father hadn't been back to England since before my birth and my mother never left France, maybe they just forgot about it in my studies? Would you care to enlighten me?"

Hermione's little outburst could be taken in many different ways. She could be seen as defending her family, looking down upon lesser bloodlines, or both. Every option benefited the persona Hermione was cultivating for herself. Hermione swore that she saw his blue eyes flash red and she braced herself for what might come next. Their eyes locked, and Tom saw his opportunity. He slowly began to dip into her mind but he couldn't get anything out of her. She didn't even look like she was trying to keep him out. His hand was creeping towards his wand and the temptation to curse her until her shields broke was high, but they were in a public place and he couldn't expose himself because of one pureblooded little bitch.

Abraxas, being the good dog he was, felt the tension mounting between them and quickly intervened. He placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder gently, drawing her attention to him.

"You grew up in France, didn't you? I have a few ancestral manors there."

Hermione kept up a brief conversation with Abraxas about where his ancestral manors were, what his experiences were there, and recommended which shops he should try next time he visited. She smiled and answered every question he asked, adding in a few of her own, but she barely paid attention to the conversation. Most of her energy was spent observing everyone else at the table. Abraxas demanded the most attention. He looked far more like Lucius than Draco. His skin was considerably darker than Draco's alabaster tone which made his platinum hair even more noticeable. The slicked back undercut which he sported accentuated his face. His jaw, like his son's, was incredibly square but he was free of the heavy wrinkles which had burdened Lucius. He had small scars on either side of his face, which when taken in with his broader frame gave him a more rugged look. Hermione didn't even have to look at his hands to know that they were calloused from Quidditch. Abraxas Malfoy was a beater if she had ever seen one – brash and big.

While Abraxas kept everyone near them engaged, Thoros was there every step of the way with a sly comment under his breath. The boy was quicker than Hermione initially thought, but he spoke so softly that she was sure only she could hear. It did make sense that he wouldn't want Abraxas to hear the comments he was making. While Abraxas was twice Thoros' size, Hermione knew that wasn't the concern. Abraxas could decimate Thoros socially. While they were both a part of the Sacred 28, the Nott family still paled in comparison to the Malfoy family. Hermione assumed that Thoros associated with Abraxas because their fathers made them. She didn't see a world where Thoros and Abraxas naturally flocked to one another. Their reactions to her throughout the conversation showed how drastically different they were. Abraxas saw her as a pretty pureblood who he could bed and, potentially, wed. Thoros recognized the threat that she posed. He was careful about how he interacted with her. Hermione was positive that he hadn't meant for her to hear his comments and he hadn't said two words to her otherwise unless directly prompted.

Neither Abraxas nor Thoros surprised Hermione though. While they may look different than Theo and Draco, the way that the pairs interacted with one another was quite similar. Admittedly, Theo and Draco did get quite a bit closer as school went on – the same could not be said for Thoros and Abraxas. Hermione shuddered at the thought of this dynamic being the improved dynamic. No, she was surprised by Alphard. While he and Sirius were mirror images of one another, their personalities differed drastically. Sirius, even after spending twelve years in Azkaban, had no qualms speaking his mind to whoever he came across. When given the chance to talk about himself, Sirius would spend the whole night detailing his life if he could. Whereas Alphard would barely elaborate on any questions that she asked him. She did her best to draw him into the conversation, but he was far too cautious to speak. She was unsure if Alphard was just wary of her being there or if he simply did not want all of Slytherin house to hear him speak. Somehow, she would have to get Alphard alone to see how he was in one on one situations. Alphard obviously had somewhat of a heart because he did write Sirius into his will and he had allowed her to sit with him. Orion clearly would not have allowed her to sit if Tom hadn't interfered, which made her wonder how far Tom's influence spread. There wasn't much written about his school years, the few accounts that Hermione had read were extremely biased. She knew that most people didn't suspect him, but she needed to know the general attitude toward him. How good was Tom at hiding that darkness within to the general populous? Was he this master manipulator or did he just get lucky by limiting his interactions and sucking up to the teachers? Plenty of powerful wizards faded into infamy, so what was so different about Tom Riddle? Hermione needed to figure him out.

* * *

Tom Riddle would be damned if he let some silly, little girl show question him. He had cultivated his image for the past six years and he had become the king. He started slowly, establishing dominance in his grade through shows of power. After his magic grew, Tom started taking on the upperclassmen and by the time he was in his third year, his place was solidified. He had played his role and allowed the older Slytherins to keep their place in the hierarchy, but they knew that was only because he had allowed it. No one dared to question him in his house and outside of his house he was just the smart, friendly head boy. Slytherins knew to keep their mouths shut and wouldn't dream of taking any issue to a professor because they knew their house would shun them. Other houses were much weaker, and they would run to tell a teacher immediately, which just wouldn't do. Dumbledore would use anything to expel him. He didn't know why, but Dumbledore had always been able to see past his façade. No matter how much charm he put on or how hard he tried in class, Tom could never win Dumbledore over. Fifth-year he had convinced everyone that it was Hagrid who caused Myrtle's death, but Dumbledore knew. His cover story could be flawless and Dumbledore would always know. Because of that Dumbledore had spent the past six years attempting to undermine his control. Dumbledore had never succeeded, so this girl wouldn't either. He didn't care what family she came from, her magic would undoubtedly pale in comparison to his, and he would put her in her place.

For some reason, her comments had flipped a switch within him that hadn't been activated in years. Whenever someone was disrespectful, he imagined all the ways that he could curse them, but he never did it in the moment. He was smarter than that. He had to pick the proper time and place to exact his revenge, he couldn't afford to make mistakes. When Hermione questioned what family he was from, there was just so much disdain and disgust in her eyes while her tone held an incredible amount of condescension and he almost lost it. His hand had moved to his wand and _Crucio_ was coming to the forefront of his mind, but then Abraxas spoke. Abraxas' voice knocked Tom out of the trance that he had been. He would have to reward his right-hand man later. Everything could have been ruined because of this stuck-up girl. In the dorms, he would have free reign. He could section her off and teach her a lesson. Yes, that's what he would do. He would teach her a lesson, obliviate her, and let that lingering fear plague her mind for a while. It was beautiful how a simple _obliviate_ could fix everything. If she did prove to be worthy then he would take his time and woo her, but for now, she was not worth it. Tom was sure that the magic he had seen in Diagon Alley was just a fluke. An upset child could have done something like that if pushed far enough and if she was mistreated in France then it would make sense that her magic would let off one last massive defense before she collapsed. A girl this infuriating could not, would not be anywhere near where he was in power. He rarely made mistakes, but his initial thoughts of her were wrong.

She spent the rest of dinner in shallow conversation with the people around her. Tom thought that the girl must be quite dense because she continuously attempted to pull Alphard into the conversation. Any intelligent person would see that Alphard was not the conversational type and he only spoke when he wanted to speak. She also seemed to be falling for all of Abraxas' tricks. Her hands were brushing Abraxas' toned arms and she laughed at all of his jokes. Tom had seen hundreds of women throwing themselves at Abraxas and while they were all idiots, none of them irked him like this. Most of them just fell in line and swooned over Tom too. He was an attractive man and he knew that, but Abraxas could grant a woman more status than he could now. Pureblooded women fawned over Abraxas in public because they knew they could be his bride, but it was Tom who they ran to in private. Most pureblood girls just chose to do the best they could to ignore Tom when they were in front of people, but their attempts to hide their affections were incredibly weak in public and as soon as they were alone with him, they begged for the chance to be with him. Yet, here Hermione was pawing Abraxas in public and barely spared a glance Tom's way. All of the other girls threw longing looks his way over Abraxas' shoulders, but whenever Tom caught Hermione's eye her gaze sharpened a bit and he knew that if he were a weaker man he would have looked away. He repeatedly attempted to get into her mind when their eyes did lock, but it was like there was nothing there. He had never encountered someone like this because this wasn't regular occlumency. She didn't have walls that kept him out like other people, there was no barrier that he was running into, her mind was just this abyss. There was nothing for him there, nothing he could latch onto and attack. At first, Tom thought that maybe the spell wasn't quite strong enough, but the next time he cast – albeit, wordless – he put as much energy as he could into it and he still got nothing. He would have to try casting the spell on her normally to see if maybe something was off with his wordless casting, but he suspected that he would not be met with any different results.

His frustration with her was ever-growing and he decided that he was going to make life a little more difficult for her. He plastered on his innocent, curiosity-filled faced, and put on his softest tone so he could ask, "I know that this might be a sensitive topic for you, but may I ask why you were allowed to transfer? I understand that there is a war going on, but surely there are countless students who were put into similar situations. Why were you the only one they allowed into Hogwarts?"

Tom hoped that his question would make Hermione show a bit of emotion. She seemed quite thick beforehand, so she would hopefully just fall right into his little trap. The other seventh year girls would eat Hermione alive if they saw any signs of weakness, which would make Hermione an easier target for whatever Tom decided to do with her. Tom found that he was wrong about Hermione again though, instead of letting sadness creep into her features, Hermione's eyes turned hard and she held his gaze as she spoke. The conversations near them had stopped, Slytherins always had a sense of when juicy information might come out, and, without breaking Hermione's gaze, Tom knew that all eyes were on her.

"Well, _Riddle_ ," She dragged his name out and Tom was sure that it was just another dig at his blood status. The insult made Tom's mind flash to how quickly he could change that tone. If he had one night with her, he wouldn't be Riddle anymore. She would grovel at his feet and call him "my lord," she would be beneath him where she belonged. "I'm not sure how much you know about the war, but Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are currently safe from Grindelwald. While the rest of Europe has become his playground, the schools seem safe for now. The issue is that I did not go to either of those schools, which means that I was not granted the same safety. While I'm sure that either school would have taken me, there was no reason for me to remain there anymore. My family is Britain, so that's where I went."

Merlin, she was patronizing. Of course, he knew about the war, he knew about both wars. He was forced to live in that damned Orphanage as they bombed Britain. He read the papers and knew about Grindelwald and the radicals that he had gained around him. He knew about all of it and he wouldn't have this curly haired bimbo questioning him about that, especially since she was just using all of that to avoid his question.

"Pardon me Ms. Black, but that still doesn't explain why Hogwarts allowed you to come. What makes you so different?"

Instead of glaring at him as he expected, Hermione let out a small laugh as she shook her head – Tom decided that he preferred the glare.

"I would have assumed you could have guessed that after all, I'm on the front page of every paper here. All it took was a meeting with the Minister and Headmaster Dippet and I was officially enrolled."

The small smile on her face showed that she clearly thought she had won and, if Tom were younger, he might have flushed with embarrassment at her point because on the surface that was what it looked like. He needed to get her to take about Dumbledore though, they spoke with such familiarity in the hall and he knew that Dumbledore played a bigger role in this than she was letting on.

"Speaking of the paper, maybe I'm just a bit confused but how did you end up in Diagon Alley in the first place? Where were you trying to go?"

Hermione had the good sense to let her face fall just a bit and soften her voice slightly. While the Slytherins weren't an extremely sympathetic lot, she saw that some of the Ravenclaws were not so discreetly listening to this conversation too and Ravenclaws were the worst gossip of the lot, so she could garner quite a bit of sympathy from the rest of the school with this.

"Honestly, I was just trying to get out of where I was. They had taken my wand, my parents were dead, the friends that I was fighting with had just been killed, and I knew that I was next. All I could think about was getting away from that and saving myself, so when one of the men tried to grab me I took his wand and attempted to apparate away. I didn't have a clear place in mind, all I could think about was Uncle Albus, and then I was in the middle of Diagon Alley surrounded by all of these strange people."

Hermione took long pauses between her words and even threw in a couple "calming" breaths for show, hoping that her emotion sold it, but Tom didn't pay attention to any of that. He was caught up on the words _Uncle Albus,_ surely she couldn't mean Dumbledore but that would also explain how she had been admitted so quickly. Luckily, Orion Black took this as his chance to speak with an incredulous look on his face.

"Uncle Albus? As in Albus Dumbledore? We Blacks have no relation to the Dumbledores."

Orion thought he had caught the girl, that he was finally going to prove that she had no true link to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, but Hermione nodded and continued on as though she were describing the day instead of telling them that she was related to one of the most powerful wizards that any of them had met.

"Yes, my Uncle Albus is Professor Dumbledore. We aren't related by blood, but he is my godfather. Now that my parents are gone, he's become my official guardian though that won't matter much because I'll be of age by the time we graduate. It's just nice to have someone I know close."

Hermione hadn't planned on dropping this bomb right away, but it was just another dig at Riddle that she couldn't resist taking. Albus Dumbledore was the bane of his existence and now he found out that she was his goddaughter. Obviously, she was playing with fire here. Tom already disliked her and either finding out this information would drive Tom to action or it would temper him as Dumbledore was probably the only person on this planet that Tom feared. It was a fifty-fifty shot, but Hermione was a bit to reckless not to take it. With this new magic flowing in her veins, Hermione's reckless tendencies had been exaggerated. Potter and Black magic loved the idea of a fight and that had infused into her already quick-tempered magic, so it wasn't that surprising that she was taking more risks than she used to. Her magic was aching to be worked out again, she hadn't had much time to herself to work out some of the kinks. If she verbally said a spell with her wand it was still far too powerful, she had tempered some of her nonverbal magic, and her wandless magic was in check both verbal and non, but if she was agitated that all went out the window. All she wanted right now was an excuse to let her magic run free, she could feel it building up inside of her as her anger grew. Tom was attempting to trap her, he thought that she was too stupid to play the game. All of them seemed to think she was an idiot, but that just wouldn't do. All it would take is one little show of power in front of a crowd and then they wouldn't question her again. She had heard the people around her questioning if what happened in Diagon Alley was a fluke or not. If she showed them it wasn't, then she would establish her position. Initially, she planned to blend in but with her entrance there was no blending in and she had to stand out if she wanted to rally support away from Tom.

* * *

Tom had gone back and forth with himself the entire night on whether or not he should send his boys after Hermione. She was Dumbledore's goddaughter, which introduced a new complication and explained her dislike for him, but that did mean that she probably had even more value than he first thought. She had infuriated him all throughout dinner and he sorely needed to curse someone, it would be best if that someone was her. He wanted her begging at his feet, pleading for mercy and then he would give her the chance to tell him all her secrets before he cursed her some more. Hermione was far too confident for her own good and he had to take her down a few notches. He couldn't allow her to continue down this path of flaunting his authority. She was a woman. He could not let a woman question him, if he allowed that then all of his followers would start questioning him and that would be a major issue. He could also throw Orion a bone by allowing him to be one of the ones to capture the girl. Tom was sure that Orion was aching to curse the girl after she made him look like such a fool at dinner. He wouldn't be able to send his inner circle on the off chance that someone did see them taking her. He needed big names that would be able to take the fall and Orion already had a built-in motive. Reginus Lestrange was also particularly ruthless, needed no excuse for a fight, and had befriended Orion because the Blacks and Lestranges were currently working on a new partnership. If he was going to do it, this would be the way.

* * *

Hermione was making her approach back to the dungeons after sneaking off to the kitchens. She couldn't eat much at once anymore, but she needed to regain her strength so she grabbed some food that she would be able to snack on throughout the night. Her current plan was to invest in some strengthening solution or at least the ingredients to it next time she went to Hogsmeade, so she could get back to her normal weight. While she had put on a little weight since the war, she was nowhere near back to normal and that may not end up affecting the strength of her magic, but it could definitely affect her endurance. She wasn't sitting in her room all day reading books and practicing spells on and off, she was going to spend every single day in close quarters with the dark lord. While he may not be at full strength yet, he was strong that much she knew. She couldn't let herself slack off on regaining her strength as she had before. She was not dealing with a little baby as she had initially planned, she was dealing with a teenage dark lord and however many goons he might have at this time.

She had shoved all of her food into her pockets and was carefully making her way through the halls, not wanting to run into a prefect or a professor on her first night there. It was just past curfew and admittedly she didn't really know the best route back to the dungeons. She maneuvered down the stairs slowly, careful to not create too much noise in fear of alerting those who were patrolling of her position or worse letting Peeves know that she was there. She knew how to curse him now, but that damned ghost was so loud that half of the castle would know she was out walking around before she got the chance to freeze him in place. Luckily, she had made it through the castle without incident. She assumed that most of the prefects were a bit behind on their patrols because of the first-year speeches they had to give and that made it quite easy for her to sneak all the way down to the dungeons. She was almost home free, one more corner to turn and then she would be fine, but she heard voices.

"Where is the little bitch?"

"I don't know, the girls said that she set her stuff in the dorms and headed out without another word. It's after curfew so you know she has to be coming back soon. We'll get her when she does, don't worry Orion."

Of fucking course, Orion Black would be waiting for her. While Hermione didn't know for certain that they were talking about her, she highly doubted that Orion Black would be waiting up for anyone else. She had half a mind to curse them right now, but these idiots were talking freely and might reveal some helpful information plus if she got caught, she needed to be able to say they attempted to curse her first.

"I'm sick and tired of waiting. I should have just cursed her at dinner for trying to make a claim to my fucking inheritance, but of course, _he_ had to jump in and protect her."

"Don't forget that he sent us after her tonight, said we can do whatever we like to the pretty little bint as long as it isn't permanent."

"I want to make her bleed. I think that's fitting since she tried to say she was my blood. We could slash her up and leave her as a warning. Doesn't that sound nice Reggie?"

"Just don't cut up her face, I like my girls pretty when I break them in. She seems like she'd be a fun one to break in, those prim and proper types always end up begging for more."

Hermione had heard enough, it was obvious that the two were only going to fantasize about hurting her for the rest of the night and they had already told her what she needed to know – Tom was behind this. Before Orion could say another word she walked around the corner, pretending that she hadn't heard their entire conversation. She gave the boys a light smile when she noticed them, mainly because she knew this would be her chance to let her magic run free. The adrenaline was already coursing through her veins and her entire body was crackling as her magic grew within.

"Oy, if it ain't the little bitch who thinks she can claim my family name."

Hermione cocked a brow at Orion, but let a small smirk slip onto her lips.

"Cousin, I'd be careful if I were you. You don't want to do anything you'll regret."

Orion's fist clenched around his wand and he stalked towards her, wand pointed right at her chest.

"Don't call me cousin you lowbred bitch. Now you're going to come with me if you know what's good for ya."

Hermione shook her head softly, positive that she was grinning from ear to ear. She could feel her magic expanding around her and if Orion was smart at all he would feel it too and run.

"Cousin, if anyone is lowbred here it's you. The Kama line is much older than the _McMillans,"_ Hermione let the disdain drip off of her tongue and Orion sprung right into action.

"You fucking bitch!" He was basically screaming now, which was a bit concerning because it would draw more attention to them than Hermione had planned, but Orion was like putty in her hands. He was doing basically everything she wanted him to and as he waved his wand, she knew that she was in the clear.

"Cru-" Before Orion could get the full word out, Hermione had already begun a string of jinxes to incapacitate him. _Expelliarmus._ Orion flew back, crashing into the wall, and his wand went straight to Hermione's hand. _Incarcerous._ Tight ropes wrapped themselves around Orion's body as he called her all sorts of names. _Silencio._ Orion continuously attempted to scream but found that no sound was coming out. _Engorgio Skullus._ Orion's head began to double and then triple in size.

"Now your head is just as big as your ego is, cousin. Next time-" A flash of red light shot towards Hermione, but a simple _Protego_ deflected the spell and Hermione turned her attention to the Lestrange boy.

"I don't know who you are, but I don't think it's proper to curse a woman when she is talking to her family, do you?" Lestrange shot off another spell at Hermione which simply sidestepped. "Not to mention that you boys were going to gang up on one poor little girl weren't you?" Reginus tried a darker curse this time, Hermione deflected it with a wandless and nonverbal _protego_. "I hate to think how many other girls you've done this to, probably girls far weaker than I. You seem like a bit of a bully and do you want to know something?" Reginus' eyes were frantic and he was firing off all of the curses that he could think of while Hermione hadn't broken a sweat choosing to sidestep or deflect all of them.

"I don't like bullies." She said as she waved her hand with _Levicorpus_ at the front of her mind. Lestrange flew into the air by his ankles and began flailing about. Hermione plucked his wand out his hands and took Orion's as well. Hermione walked up to the portrait and whispered the password before turning back to look at the two boys – one silenced and tied up with a giant head, the other swinging back and forth as he hung by his ankles begging for her to let him down.

"I'll leave these in the common room for you boys. If you try anything like this again, I won't be as nice."


End file.
